(no subject)

[sweeezle]

the smoke comes out heavey
in thick silk whispers
and with no sign of fire it builds
floats up up and away
until it reaches the top of my soul
the pit of my gut

and rests there

building in depth

blinded by its fullness
its reached the top

and rests there

the happy full feeling
no longer empty like

a winter tree that once stood bare