Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!

The Sixth Sense

I still see the dreams,
Where I am
With future feelings
Of euphoria.
Where I fidget around
With paraphernalia
Until I finally
Get my fix.
I still can smell the stench
Of stale cigarettes
Carelessly burning
In a bottle cap ashtray.
The squealing scent
Of smoked coke,
Bullying the
Breathable air;
The pungent musty odor
Of neglected hygiene.
I still hear my kids,
Scavenging the cabinets
For food;
Stomachs snarling—
Snapping at the
Selfishness of
My conscious.
Their worried whispers
They share;
With SpongeBob
In the background,
Because I forced them
To watch cartoons,
While I indulged in sin.
I still taste the murky sludge
Of a morning mouth
Contaminated by contraband;
The burning nostrils
From too much ether,
Not enough dope.
The bravery in
A bottle of booze,
And the miracle
Medical marijuana.

I still feel the anticipation
Of blasting off
To an
Unknown realm,
Population: one;
A heightened sense
Of alertness,
A sexual surge
So strong,
I want to explode;
The artificial confidence
From insomnia.

Does the devil taunt
Me with temptation…?
It’s not that.
The Lord has
Blessed me with insight;

I see the courtrooms and rehabs,
I feel the depression and paranoia,
I taste the vomit of early morning rituals,
I smell the fear at the emergency ward,
I hear Death’s constant invitations,

But I know,
That God loves me.
That is my sixth sense.

Written by Willie Wright‏


Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge