Thoughts No Better

Some thoughts are no better than drugs Sit down, bored, and decide to Think them Pop 'em in and escape So bad. So good. From the blurred cars, trees, and buildings around you. As you pop the fuel in your ears Steadily wear out the current song that gives birth to them Until the song is flattened, nothing but sallow skin, and you want nothing to do with it Anymore. Like some vile vial The current song must mother the thought in order to infuse the walk, the jog, the run, the desperate sprint. It must nourish the thought to promote productivity One side effect is that it may instead, wreck productivity And you may plummet from delusions of grandeur Bathed in the fluidity of the thought With the smell of ripe peaches and a hint of spice. Giddy laser glares. Thinking, I accidentally walked to the third floor I should've been on the first.