A Spray-Painter High

I walked into my literature class the other day
And the intoxicating smell of spray-paint laced the room,
At first I was surprised but then I realized
My class golf hole’s deadline hung over us like impending doom.

Inside my head I punched a wall,
but then I forgot the thought…
when I suddenly realized that without my help,
my class and golf hole would surely rot!

I chose to be the spray-painter
Because art is my specialty
But little did I know that because of the fumes
An interesting experience it would be!

After an hour-an-a-half of inhaling fumes
I gave this work a rest…
And then I noticed my head was pounding
And my heart slammed within my chest.

I staggered into the hallway
And people stared and said, “are you okay?”
But through all of my heads pounding
All I managed was a smile and a “hey!”

I stumbled into chemistry class
And waited for the feeling to be gone…
But when the pounding stopped
And the slamming ceased a new feeling came on.

No I didn’t see wierd colors…
And I didn’t hear wierd voices!
No I didn’t start rambling…
I was actually in control of my choices!

It was like a feeling
Of calmness and peace
I was able to ignore
Jokes and jerks with ease

Everything seemed quiet
And really more in focus
You might say, “that’s not a high!”
But yes it is! I know this!