Indica

And on tides we can't be untouched by

of troubles stay when lids lay over eyes

the frames and faces I've mistaken for kids whose lives I may have taken

and if so, do I haunt their parents dreams?

and in so, am I summarized by sounds of young lung screams?

their young one's screams

and of war bonds and blood stained hands

combat neurosis shys from indica strands

and it breaks my mother's heart to know I came back broken

with the thought of my arms spilt open

and if so, would bring their parent's peace?

and if so, could I give back the sounds of their children's screams?

let go of what I've seen

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