Trip


Context: I wrote this while, for the first time, experimenting with hallucinogenics.

Life is a beautiful thing.
As I lay here,
feeling the fire course through my body
I am reminded of that simple fact.

My fingers dance an electric ballet across the keyboard,
guided by the orchestra of simplistic pleasures.

Voices rise from downstairs.
They lurk across the ceiling,
down the wall,
and eventually find their way into my head.
They call my name.
They ask how I am.
What a perverse question to ask.
I am beautiful,
I am hideous.
I am perfect,
I am chaos.
I am me.

Time moves slowly across the desert of the mind, never quite stopping or dying. Possibilities.
Light, music, people.
All is needed right now.

Must go dance with the wolves.
They are calling.

 


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