ça arrive même aux gens biens.

rushing train
at an unchallenged speed
through a dark, decaying
and dominated world
music piercing my ears
novels astonishing my eyes
the need to feel
human, beheaded
because of the dear senses
the taste of a cigarette
the heavy, familiar nausea
the smell of shit
someone's vomit
am I alive or am I
just high
I hope it'd be both
or neither
being as stoned as I want to undress