Past gloaming, in the starry twilight, a man looms. In the time when one holds the pain of the past eve and the fear of future prime, a man looms. He possesses a burden of the brain, shall he abstain or indulge. The pain of the day lingers in his essence. Is there worth in enslavement to the inebriation? This isn't the legitimate inquisition for the minds of such unhinged ones. Rather, said individual seeks a path of survival. The question then inquired was that of: "will this take me to tomorrow?"
To live for the day wasn't enough. The constant excruciation encapsulated his ongoing venture of life. His decision was synthesized, living to die wasn't an option. He opens his mouth and lungs to the smog. He lights the eternal flame and takes a breath of the temporal dimension. Free into the abyss, free he plummets into a downward spiral. All angst approaching complete desolation. Remanence of pain unmatched with monumental amounts of augmenting euphoria. He has finally tasted the superficial 'seventh heaven'.
Succeeding his voyage, the man delves into a profound hibernation. Four corners of deprivation and four walls painted vantablack. The more space surpasses his conscience the more time begins to crystalize. His reality being torn down and manipulated past apprehension. His viability has been reduced to an appearance of nothing. Yet another hyperspace leading onward into further darkness and seclusion. He lay sound, embarked on the cold tiles of his kitchen floor, momentarily to face the inevitable awakening into tangibility....
YOU ARE READING
The Taste of Hallucinogens
Poetrythis is a story about a man who is struggling and decides to try drugs for the first time. I want people to gain a better grasp on their lexis so I used words that can stimulate thought as long as you know what they mean.
