and i get all confused and say what the fuck
am i body or am i mind
and who is "I" to ask the damn question in the first place and why dont "I" shut the fuck up
then my mind says "I" must be crazy - talking about the consciousness of the consciousness of the consciousness and shit
and "I" hot boxes the blunt again then draws from a beer
and disregards my fucking mind who/which keeps wondering about the health of my fucking smoke-and-alcohol-filled body.
Writings by Esteban A. Martinez, poetry, fiction, rants, speculation and whatever else we want to call writing
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