Like a Weed

Check out this motherfucking weed.

The thing with this weed is, it’s growing. It was tiny three days ago, but check it out now. It’s massive. It’s two weeds. Look at it slorping out of its container.

I don’t mind, or anything, but there’s only so much dirt. I’m afraid it’ll…suck that dirt dry and start preying on what’s near. (What’s near is me, man. It’s me.)

(I’m secretly happy to have a weed. My myrtle’s just died, the one I’d kept going since two Christmases ago. Now I’ve got a dandelion, like…the circle of life. Righteous, dude. Cosmic, and totally tubular. No, I didn’t smoke the weed.)

I wish clovers would grow in there, or honeysuckle. Something I could lick, and it’d be sweet. Fresh, flowery nectar. The taste of summer.

I did not smoke the weed.