slam.

here I am

strung out on some weak caffeine

letting the high lift me up to the

place my happy memories

reside.

this

happiness emanates a peace

so serene

that the sallow sickly part of me

crawls back into hiding.

relaxing I descend

into that old me

the me who is happy

the me who is free

longing

for nothing more

than the sun on hair

the wind in my face

the sounds

of autumn

though as the high fades

my projected consciousness

returns to

the present

leaving me longing

for my next trip

back