It's near me and fulland I must smash it to survive;but as the liquid slides through the needlesheathed in my hand,the hit in my brain takes me.I am dying;a living horror of pseudo pleasures,but entombed in the folds of my mindthe deep silence briefly intoxicates,before synesthesia of lightbecomes a cacophony of soundand fearing harsh reds,screaming yellowsand agonising blues,I close my eyesto see another me of former beautyand we stare as if each the reflection of vanity.She pities mebut I laugh in her faceas she sheds cloned images;advancing as a distorting hoardintent upon my self destruction.
For those lucky enough to escape from their habit, researchers are coming to understand the benefits of taking hallucinogenic drugs for therapeutic reasons, treating a recently described disorder called HPPD.
CEAU POETRY Prose POEMS Social Comments
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