I’d boarded the flight from Amsterdam,
2 Kilos of hash strapped tight to my diaphragm,
taken diazepam,
five milligram,
to relax with Prozacs, and wham,
came on that dissociative feeling,
leaving my body still breathing
as my mind strolled the ceiling.
Leering and leaning,
keeling over whilst dreaming,
bumping into people, feeling no feeling.
A spectacle of disarray
counterproductively revealing;
air hostesses familiar with what they are dealing.
All inhibitions receding
confidently conceited,
trying to find my seat again whilst already seated.
Blowing out my lungs as if being defeated;
all subtlety forfeit when my mind retreated.
Yet I made it through customs; security cheated,
so I relaxed back for descent knowing my mission was completed.
The disguise I’d applied had succeeded to hide
all that I’d tried to get through on the ride,
so unless in for a surprise on the other side,
I felt justified to sit the flight out fried.

You can shake off the take off of your trip if you’re a spaceman,
I popped a pill or three and confidently became a wasteman.
Some base and a little bit of MDMA and
I was well on my way without knowing to crash land.
But I’d planned and done it several times before
I thought I was clever; a familiar dosage, no more.
I thought I could weather -
I’d seen the future of my endeavour -
but the future was high too and had been jesting with the fortune teller
either that or I’d been fed lies by the seller.
Whatever -
I’d wrapped the uppers in a Johnny and swallowed it with a pill;
my gag reflex I’d numbed but I still felt kinda ill.
The plane began descending; ‘Welcome to Brazil!’
It was about then everything went drastically downhill.
My boarding card read England, how long was I tranq’d out?
I tried to shout a stewardess, but more than words came out.
I stood a little quickly and felt a lump dislodge.
The condom of drugs made a bid for escape
followed by vomit and splodge.
Luckily, a passenger's cleavage
was kind enough to rescue the drugs,

but she wasn’t impressed with the vomit on her breasts,
nor was her husband; a thug.
Evidently in for a beating, I ditched my seat retreating,
but where could I go, on a plane flying low
packed from front to back with full seating?
The stewards came and sorted it out
and I decided to be quiet, not to shout.
A wise idea considering we were near
to an airport where I could turn about.

I had a pocket of vomit soaked narcotics
and had to return back through airport robotics,
I’d heard prisons in Brazil were chaotic
and I was spaced out, psychoneurotic.

So pouring with sweat, like Garry Glitter on Twitter,
I wrapped the drugs up in some nearby litter.
Nervous, heart pounding, with my thoughts all confounding,
changed my mind ‘n instead,
slid them right up my shitter.

I adjusted my midriff belt flat with hash
and stumbled out the plane in a sorta sideways dash.
I wasn’t gonna wait and be the last through the gate,
I just had to get it over with in a flash.
Standing in Rio International airport
I had a new brainwave; a novel thought.
I could stay here instead, get a hotel, a bed,
and celebrate not getting caught.
I picked up my bag to leave,
but then for some reason I had to sneeze;
it was so sudden and intense, and the pressure so immense
that I felt my entire digestive system squeeze

This was clearly not gonna end good,
and within minutes I was feeling too good!
Seeing sparkles and colours, synesthesia discovered,
I had a boner as hard as fresh wood.
Evidently I’d burst the condom,
and I was feeling the drugs swiftly creep on.
I had to vacate, before I got more in a state
and did something like burst into song.
I skipped out the airport trying not to
It was like a disco in my bum, with Pikachu
there was lightning inside of me
and I was twitching quite violently,
as my cheeks, I began to chew through.

A cabbie picked me up reluctantly
and kept an eye on me in the mirror cautiously.
Extorting me, I contortedly paid and left the car
whilst he made a phone call, surely reporting me.

I stood still considering my direction,
when some pedestrians noticed my erection.
I tried to conceal it, but in the process revealed it
and swiftly became the centre of attention.
Fucked out of my face I stood surrounded;
attitudes so dark, I looked shrouded.
I sweated with fear, and as the police drew near
and my heart in my chest loudly pounded.

The pounding and the sweating became profuse.
The saturated chest tape came loose.
The drugs slid down, fell out on the ground,
rendering pointless my every excuse.
Perspiring, with drugs in and around me,
the uppers continued to confound me.
Lost for what to do, I took off my right shoe
and proceeded to dance acting clowny.
I still had vomit on my jacket,
as I tripped over my shoe and stacked it.
I hit my head, becoming hazy and my eyesight grew lazy;
I blacked out; no longer could hack it.

I awoke on my front holding my head,
evidently, I’d fallen out of bed.
A thread of a dream, so random and obscene
was a side affect, I guess, from my meds.
You’re supposed to learn lessons from your dreams,
I guess the moral of this one’s for fiends.
If you’re gonna smuggle weed, in order to succeed
you’ve got to lay off psychoactive beans.

Copyright. 2009-2010 James Francis