All in my brain

The lining of my mind

Fuzzy, foreign

Colored like the strangely sticky

Bowling Alley carpet

Creeps up to the back of my eyes

Aggravating and obscene

This Purple Haze

I run my hands through my hair

That feels too coarse today

Probably due to the climate and

That air that stings me

I hate this 

Purple Haze

All over my mind

Clouds my thoughts

Stops them in their tracks

I no longer even have the 

Taken-for-granted privilege 

Of viewing them myself

The room handed over 

To all encompassing 

Haze, Purple like the clouds

That runs in and surrounds my mind

I can't go on, like, this

Purple Haze