This is the end of the road, my friends.

What little wisdom I had has left me for some supposed greater good, or so my dentist claims. I have a running theory that dentists are storing all of our wisdom to take over the world.

Ok, I don't actually have that theory. It's probably just the codeine talking because lord knows I'm not talking any time soon.

Instead I just lay here and think about all the things there are to think about; a requiem for a dream.

I think about the clouds,

and the way I fly next to them while I'm lying still.

I think about how blue the sky is and when things are so awfully calm that I become a storm inside, and the sky becomes a dark grey of mist and hissing.

I think about the sun and the way it feels to be smothered with warmth and comfort, and I smile.

Except I don't. Because, I don't know if you've ever had your wisdom teeth removed, but that hurts like a son of a bitch.

So I just keeping thinking.

I think about the flowers and how awful it must be to have someone think you are so beautiful,

and pluck you still.

I think about the dirt and how disregarded it is, with all its worms and crawlers;

yet, we wouldn't have growth without it.

I think about the trees and how their leaves are being replaced with another green that's accompanied by a rectangular smile.

And for someone who doesn't have their wisdom anymore, I've been thinking a lot; and I hope you take this poem for the metaphor it is.

Or maybe it's just the codeine.