Stoned and Stinky

Stoned and Stinky

A Poem by Patrick L. Fannin

free-form, that I wrote in one sitting, this is how I prefer to do my writing also the first of my stoner poems


I step into the shower, in my residence hall,
which is what they want us to call them.
My last shower was two days ago, during thanksgiving break

Breaks from school usually consisted of, or at least for me:
Unwanted relatives talking to me about my unsure future
Gross amounts of Home Cooked Meals
and nights in my hometown, which force me to remember a lost time

a time of judgment by parents, peers, and the community
as I give my state of the union, over and over
each time I bump into someone semi-familiar
the same speech pours out of my mouth
I wonder if they lied to me as much as I lied to them.

the food never bothered me before, but this year
my refusal to be the slightest of apathetic
has led me to see thanksgiving,
and every other post card holiday
as a giant corporate scheme, which exemplifies my America

as I shower I think back to break,
for its filth is still on me

The night the ounce of pot came or the night the other ounce came
I had spent all of break smoked out of my mind
experiencing two of my first marijuana hallucinations

Also the nights spent driving around trying to find something to do
besides smoke pot,(me and some friends have fears it had become habitual)

The nights spent with the female who has my heart this fall
the nights of heavy make-outs with no sex
then the final night of sex in a friends spare bedroom
on the chair that belonged in little Richard’s bathroom

The vacation back home wasn't bad
starting a band,(fifth attempt)was the highlight
but, after the break and as I return back to school
I stumble back into another marijuana haze

Part II
Still in the shower, I think,” I have class at three, it's probably like two"
my own underarm smells of a solid 2 days of hard intoxication
I would have showered the night before
If I didn't get the good news
that a friend of mine was freed from prison

all of us, sick of home, and full of useless cash
one of us single ,for the first time, in 3 years
sat down to celebrate, firstly though
a ceremonial move-out of the domestic trap
that my new single friend just escape

It's not that we all despised commitment
or even the girl he had left(we actually were accustomed to her)
But we were (so-to-be)men, so we were entitled to one night
a night of indulgence and frivolity,
a night of passing the torch back to a previously fallen solider

We celebrated with the usually manner.
we didn’t consume any more booze, weed, and pills as usual
frankly we laid of the booze and pills
but the feeling was epic, a changing of the winds
temporary happiness because of (temporary)change

I stumble back to my room, nude and clean
my head still heavy from those good morning bong rips
I come in and plug in my alarm clock
as it sets its self I settle in with this poem
I look at the clock,"2:01", I guess that is a lot like 2


© 2008 Patrick L. Fannin

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laid of the booze and pills........................................................................the of I would guess should be off...?

Its is actually not bad Patrick. Part one worked well, I saw the things you talked about;. Part two however kinda lost me, I followed it though. It was a nice little read man...

Posted 10 Years Ago

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Added on December 2, 2008
Last Updated on December 2, 2008