A psychedelic substance
A psychedelic substance
Drugs. Drugs a unrelated substance.
familiar states of consciousness, familiar states.

A stimulation
A stimulation of the body
in my body
the drug, with the familiar states of consciousness
familiar states

Oh God, oh Jesus
The hallucinogens as known as drugs
consciousness

Jesus, a pusher, a dealer
a psychedelich *******
a Psychedelich mushroom
like the substance
the psychedelic substance

Capture your attention
in a box
in your mind
in your psychedelic jesus mind

Jesus was a pusher
jesus was a drug addict
a psychodelic drug addict with drums around his neck

Feelings, euphoria, empathy
for Jesus
Love, heightened self-awereness
only for Jesus
Only for my dealer

Increased sensuality, increased awareness of sensation.
Creativity, paranoia
Paranoia over Jesus

Life is a Beautiful Dream
Psychodelic music trembles the soul
Lost in the moment, dancing all over the floor
And i will be in my world
I will be like a Ghost
Pretending to be Forever Young...

Three months have passed.
I can't say I'm still where I was back then,
but I can't say I've moved much further either.
You, on the other hand, are miles away from "us".

You've moved on, and so have I.
Then why do I still miss you when I go to bed at night?
Why do I think of you when I just wake up?
Why do I get butterflies in my stomach when we talk?
Well, not really butterflies.
Maybe moths or larvae since the feeling is no longer pleasant.

You have him. I have no one.
I have nothing but my pillow, my pen and my words.
They tangle up in psychodelic dreams and wicked poems.
None of them making sense, much like me in this world.

Illusion is broken. Hope far, far gone.
Our promises gone with the wind.
I drown in a mask I built for myself to hide from my demons.
If they don't finish me, this mask sure will.
There's no win.

So who wins in a breakup?
The one who moves on faster, or the one who does better?
Maybe the one who does both, and, dear, that's not me
because I've moved on, but *I can't forget how to love you.

I was unborn
when the psychodelic bus
left the station,
but I was told about the trip,
the wild flowers
& mystic smoke,
the electric music
that blew minds
& glass tubes.
I heard it was groovy,
that it moved hippie-souls
into a positive-karmic state,
a place I wished
we had stayed.

We suffer
We are hurt
We are not brave
We cry
Its a dessert with lot of feeling that keep us away from finding home.
Its a place with no exit .
Where I lost what I work for and my effort is vanished as the rain of sand at midnight.
Im a good person but theres evil that kills my fun and all that remain is nothing.
No way back to normality, what is this sensation in my heart when I think about it.
It penetrates so deeply that the emptiness feels alone too.
Theres nobody
As the sky is full of stars but with no air.
Life whats this?
Might I be somewhere else and I'm attached to the idea of this eternally.
Let me go where I have to be now.
Where my questions become notes and my answers psychodelic music that trembles my soul and finally I might go.

red** is color of those who are gypsy-heart
it's how rainbow starts
orange is string of saturated nerve
yellow : color for  spectacular or fearfull fellow
green : equanimity is a queen
azure :realm  of elusive dreams
blue: the sadness and melancholy is within
purple is where red and blue melt:
elation of spiritual realm and
the most psychodelic sense, its how the rainbow ends

Turn on.* He preached,
A psychodelic mantra.

Turn off, I rejoin.
Recharge your battery.
Hear the place.
Don't skip out.

Tune in,
That's what he proclaimed,
Like a hallelujah chorus.

Tune out, I respond.
Extract the buds, and smell the flowers.

Drop out, his litany ended.
Alone, or with drop outs?
Distances and depths vary.
But his voice carried.

Drop by, I invite. Stay awhile.
Have a cup of Yorkshire Gold,
And walk in the garden,
With me.

Naive are the birds that fly , running from a scarecrow , Psychodelic ******* man , he's gunning for a hero , don't mind letting go , from my perch this evening , crashing into Heaven , ****** like St. Stephen ... Fly into print , ignite fuel , **** crow , will crow Babylonian capitulation .......