Foreigners of Rageanity

【≪ⅵ≫】Life may Chew Me Up and Shit Me Out, but I'm Built like a Piece of Corn-

This bad boy is holding 5557 words in it-

______________ ___ __ _

You remember the first time it was offered to you at a rave, and you remember the exact thought you had when you took it.

What's the worse that can happen?

This isn't your world after all, how strong can the dope be around here?

You remember the effect, and how it had slammed into you in a way you hadn't expected.

A kaleidoscope of colors swirled in the smoke as you exhaled, drawing you deeper into the experience, reshaping your reality with each passing moment.

The high was unlike anything you'd ever felt. The colors were brighter, your skin felt alive, the music wasn't just something you heard- it was something you became. Every beat vibrated in your bones. The air tasted sweet with every intoxicating breath, like candy and sunlight mixed together into a wacky little concoction. For those moments, you weren't just a person anymore; you were something more, and the world was yours for the taking

And it had set your fate in stone.

The effect was something that reminded you of acid and shrooms mixed together with a hint of weed, and the taste of a flavored vape.

It flipped you head over ass and left you feeling like you just inhaled every drug under the sun. It was an amazing feeling, and the flavor left in your mouth was like a fruity Baja Blast and made your tongue feel fat and heavy.

That night, with no recollection of how you got there, you ended up on stage singing some wack ass song that you can't even remember. There was definitely a video of it somewhere on the discount YouTube they called FameTube, but you couldn't care less.

You went back for more, completely overconfident in your own ability to control yourself and to know when to stop.

And you kept coming back.

Again, and again, and again.

Every time seemed to be something different- a different flavor, a different reaction, or a different song you wanted to sing.

Yeah, whatever the fuck you were taking, it gave you an unquenchable desire to sing- every time it was a different genre, but the desire was still the same: Sing your heart out.

The thought of singing in front of others used to embarrass you more than that one time you pissed your pants in third grade, but when you were under the influence of this stuff, it made you want to more than you have ever had.

Well, except for that one time you were turned into a Rock Zombie. But that wasn't your choice.

You were on top of the world, partying every night and getting absolutely baked up the wazoo, with the night always ending with you singing some kind of song and passing the fuck out somewhere, and then rise and repeat.

'I can quit whenever.' You kept telling yourself- still do, in fact, 'I know what addiction feels like, and I can stop before it gets to that point.'

... but all good things come to an end, and you got ahold of a bad batch.

You were seeing some real nightmarish shit; like you were wholeheartedly convinced people were trying to take your eyeballs and eat them kind of shit.