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deepundergroundpoetry.com

A bad trip and a lost friend

Roll it, light it, inhale deeply, and    
don't let any smoke out. Feel      
your throat burn and watch      
the tears escape from your        
bleeding eyes.      
       
Within minutes, you feel a bit nauseous, and      
the walls that surround you start breathing to      
the sound of your increasing heartbeat.        
Fluttering profusively, you can hear it beat, as      
the dull colors  become      
more vivid, and your own      
reflection starts to become        
your own worse enemy.      
       
The distorted face you see before you        
starts to worry you, for      
you think it's a mere reality,        
and the people you surround yourself with        
start to act a little peculiar and suspicious,        
almost as if they're not who they say they are.      
       
Panic subsides as you close        
your eyes and take in      
the beauty that you have created.        
It's intricate shapes and flawless        
colors leave you starstruck and in        
disbelief. It never dies nor        
diminishes, it just continues        
to build and change within the        
space continuum, like a rare painting,        
always manifesting new meanings and ideas.        
This is what you wanted, right?        
A hit and a trip to pleasure island?      
       
This colored smoke makes you feel euphoric,      
and all your pain goes away, as if it never        
really existed. You become all knowing and        
see through the people that sit before you.        
You are limitless. Nobody can touch you.      
        
But as your final hour commences, you        
take a turn for the worse.      
Sweat drips down your        
face, and that little shake on the      
lower part of your arm won't go away.      
       
Rage and hunger start to        
rain down on you,        
like a ton of bricks. What a        
strange sensation this is?        
You're not who you were an        
hour ago--you're possessed.        
Everything you've been        
taught as a child        
fails you at this        
very moment in time.      
       
Your friend looks rather      
tasty, and with a loud snap,        
the blood from        
his neck is        
in the palm of your hands.        
Loud screams and cry's        
become nonexistent,        
for you are just a        
drone, trying to feed        
his insatiable hunger.        
       
Sirens draw near,      
but what can they do?      
The look on your victims        
face has already turned black and blue.
Blake25
Written by Blake25
Published | Edited 7th Jan 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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