Ashing a pre-rolled joint into my pothos

I’m working on a science project called my life. / I’ve yet to reach a hypothesis my peers can test in a lab. / People think I’ve got lots of opinions of them, but I’ve got even more thoughts on my own exploits and their consequences. / Wanna pour salt in these stigmata? / Some choose to scream at their children. / I scream into the void. / That’s the job of a poet: to hope inside of a notebook. / If I were promised readership in death, / I’d write indefatigably using my tears of joy as ink. / Last week, I told a painter how I’d paint if I were a painter. / Climbing a mountain seems easy because at least you have a tangible goal. / I wished upon a star for world peace. / It turned out to be just a military plane. / All’s in vain so at least allow me vanity. / I’d have to invent a new language to make sense. / But then I’d have to teach it to you.