Rolling Like A Freight Train Poem by Ronnie Heaven

Whiskey, nicotine, weed, meth, Vicodin, klonipin
All begrudgingly combined to create a monster,
An adventurous zombie,
Losing motor skills faster that the orbit of mercury

Won’t leave my sanctuary
It’s right, this shirking of fresh dioxide; nuclear fallout air.
You shound’t smoke.
I shouldn’t smoke.
I SHOULDN’T SMOKE?
When our grandchildren will have 15 fingers and twelve toes, distorted insides
and massive brain tumors.
Is that what where waiting for? A “Hills Have Eyes” prophecy come to
fruition?
On November 8th, this is all mere conjecture, to the giggling nimrods,
obsessing over the next blink-of-eye thrill.

Stay on your devices, my pets.
Right now, nothing seems more right, than a Whiskey float and more spliffs,
tightly rolled like the insides in my stomach

Just remember to breathe.