The strange occurrence of love,
is one to not indulge,
in a vision with no light,
the black is a loving home,
with broken souls that become a gentle touch,
what once was blue from blurs of youth,
is grey with undignified truth,
do I ditch the spoken or the seen,
the felt or the unreality,
the body or the soul,
the heart or my cold bones,
echoes of conscious and the unwilled,
fireflies and deaths of stillness,
a mix of nothing and the scrape of something,
the lack of knowledge about my understanding,
mix of thoughts and lack of action,
seems my mind has turned into
a poisoned slushi of carnage
and
dying passion.

Strange world, my mad head cooled
after a breath of jungle spice;
That acrid smoke, I
feel better
for having inhaled.
Less than 20mg of DMT
reminded me it's OK to relax;
I forgot that it's good for me,
That it can help with my mental health
and thus my productivity. I went without
for too long, tortured myself out of curiosity.
Today I renewed my love for psychedelics,
Exchanging respects with them.
It remembers who I am

I notice that the motions of my mind
are changed
by practices I engage in on my devices.
I observe alterations
in the fabric of my reward system, I feel
movement in reward pathways
that trace back to application content and

all the screen-time. I feel plastic, at a loss

for time, these patterns and tasks. One

could use the help, nevertheless on.

Among the company of heroes

in a city of villains.

Being there, immersed
in that strange world, living it
meant something for a time, albeit brief.
Now ask ourselves
what's left?
Vonnegut said "We are what we pretend to be,
So we must be careful about what we pretend to be",
But if you're too careful you'll just become your anxiety.
Whatever of pretense, we question
what is spent.

Part of me would like to go back
and delete
all the pain
and suffering
hastily transcribed
by someone looking
for that real betterness;
But I'll polish it
and let it sit here. Shh,

It's OK
to be in the past
for a time but, what's past
should remain; makes me feel unsafe
when things creep into the present's domain,
Things to make me heave and sigh.
I rest on this chair, in the glib darkness, and
hear the city breeze
of automobiles' afar off accelerations
become those comforting rustles
that carry through the wind.

I only wish to be by your side
I wish for it every single night,
but you didn’t bring me along for the ride,
infact you didn’t take notice until I was out of sight.

Bury me alive,
don’t leave me at the door.
I’ve been stretching this drive
down to the corner store.
I’ve been chain smoking,
and breathing the cold air skies,
I’ll tell you that I’m joking,
and if you cover my ears, I’ll cover your eyes.

I’ve been trying to catch the ocean,
but ended up drowning in her eyes.
I’m stashing away every emotion,
and she accuses my sentiment for lies.
I want to go on a joyride,
I want to drive away but not to hide.
I want to go on a joyride,
but I’m feeling alone and you’re not by my side.
So I’ll turn up the music,
and ignore my pride.

Travelling the dark street
of that old quiet ghost town,
the ferret was very discreet,
but warned of us of the bear and to slow down.
Losing track of time and missing our exit,
with conversations holding a life of their own.
I’ll remind you so you won’t forget it,
now I’ll drive that highway completely alone.

Bury me alive,
oh wait, you made the shallow grave.
I’ve been stretching this drive,
it’s pitch black but I remind you to be brave.
I’ve been listening to our favourite song,
the lyrics I easily memorize.
Eliza Dushku’s turn was wrong,
but if you be my ears, I’ll be your eyes.

I know your measurements; head to toes,
and you’re perfect just the way you are.
You know I love how you look in my clothes
when you sit beside me in my dark car.
And all the streetlights went out
as we silently took a joyride,
it’s not unusual for me but I have my doubt,
that it wasn’t amplified by her by my side.