My High

I could live without,

but I don't want to.

I couldn't start my day right,

and my nights wouldn't be the same.

The heat wouldn't run through my veins,

not through me at all.

Life would drag,

yet still go on.

In class I would drift to another place,

somewhere more comforting.

A place with abundance,

liveliness,

substance.

Without, I may never be alive again,

not fully alive. 

A hole may be left from the unpresent,

and I could fill it with the worst.

But what I have isn't so bad.

It fills me up,

and calms me down.

It's just a high.

A high off the great.

A high off the magnificent.

A high off the warmth and the wonderful.

A high off what's between my hands.

A high off what's in my teacup.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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