In a haze of green, I start to forget,
My cereal's gone, but the milk's still around.
Classic munchies, my savior's regret,
The fridge beckons sweetly, a siren's sound.
I’m lost in the couch; it's my new private lair,
With crumbs on my shirt like a treasure I've found.
The timer goes off; I said I'd explore,
But I’m glued to my seat like I'm stuck in a dream.
"Five more minutes, please," oh, what a bore,
As I scroll through the memes, all delightfully mean.
My friends message, “Where you at, man?” I stare,
At my snack pyramid; it's a solid regime.
I think to myself, “What's my grand master plan?”
I should write my great novel, stars shining so bright;
But my plot's full of doodles, a doodle-filled span,
As I focus on clouds that drift in the night.
Each idea floats off like a leaf in the air,
Just like all my good sense that took off in a flight.
I take out my bong; it deserves my applause,
But dear Lord, where’s my lighter? My matchbox is bare!
I search high and low, I begin to feel lost,
Digging through cushions, retrieving despair.
I find it at last—'neath a slip and a pause,
I chuckle and sigh at my careless affair.
Then there comes a knock, the door opens wide,
It's the pizza guy, all punctual and bright.
I greet him with laughter, but try to hide,
The crumbs from the couch, my shameful plight.
"Is that pizza mine? Or a phantom inside?"
He raises an eyebrow, and I know it’s not right.
As I bid him farewell, my excitement douses,
Back to the couch, it’s my fortress of chill.
The clock ticks in slow-mo and time just arouses,
The countdown to get up, but I'm simply too still.
I lean back and smile, realizing what rouses,
The life of a stoner—a wild, wobbly thrill!
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
