Only when Lit

Jack
your eyes are bloodshot.
You smell musky,
green.
You look dazed, but
it's the only time you've ever
really looked at me
like there was a person inside you.
Without the weed,
you are just a lantern
with no candle.
A Jack-O-Lantern (ha)
unlit.
But when you're soaring,
it's the only time you ever seem
real.
Blazed,
you say.
You're blazed.
And you won't remember any of this.
"I feel... free," you say.
You're blazing through my mind
in this sudden shock of
real.