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It's been awhile since I'm in the road,
A ******* suitcase taken with myself,
I've tried to fit and carry my whole home,
But home's a feeling and a place.

And all the maps and changing routes,
Those random people I have met
Have brought no answers and no clues
To where I do belong and where I'm at.

But some of things I know for sure
I need a land to call it mine.
I need stability, secure,
To have a base, to grow and shine.
rig Jul 3
grey summer start.
garbage, tree, new kids on the block.

to the ghost fair my feet have never known living.

to the soft metal scales on the tar snake,
going back in time to tomorrow’s mouse:

to a croatian hill of potential notdeath,
bypassed, everytime, gooddriving.

to lisboncity – no sneezing.
Mary Kate Mar 26
It's all very overwhelming.

It's like an acid trip.

There are a lot of colors. There are a lot of sounds.

There's a certain serenity in that trip state.

There's too much happening.

Focus on the colors. Focus on the sounds.

What about my rationale?

Let the waves roll over you.

This is too much.

Give in.

No. I have to keep going.

Focus on the vibration of your essence.

I can't handle this.
I have to shut down.
I have to preserve.

Go numb.
Prioritize Preservation.
Chad Young Jan 29
I am the salivic twinkle in the eye.
I am the loss of vision when I look at a light.
I am the placement of a thing now, only put in my past, and played in my future.
I am the thing there now, that I placed in the past, and will leave there for the future.
I am too many to count
I am too dark to describe.
I am the colorful shades and lines of the inner eye perceiving my physical body.
Physical isn't quite right.
More like eternal-like being.
More like eternal-like spleen.
"Me" is so far out,
I don't know what this body is here before me.
What do these clothes cover?
Asymmetric from the center out.
Saying this like I gave humans life, made them walk upright.
I am the multichrome of closed eyes in a lit room.
I am faux wood.
I am that thing from the past, placed in the now, and still doesn't understand it's creator.
I am the question "why" which was never meant to be answered.
I am realizing those who are sanctified in their breath.
I am nerve meets bone meets skin meets hair.
But all in one form, I can't see how it happens.
I am what my eye looks like without seeing it, just imagining it.
"I am what I am" when I ask this question.
Sort of a mix of shape, mind, and hue.
Or is it head, line, and imagined body?
Does my hand touch my skull? Then is the hair and skin something unknown or forgotten?
What comes of the thought that is unrecognized during contemplation?
Are these really the bait for the goldfish in the mind's pool?
"Oh no, what am I going to do?" as a "bad" trip shortens my view.
The bone dry feeling of the fear of God, crushing every tendril and way that once carried me along merrily.
"What if I lose God by taking too much nutmeg?"
"You can't (or shouldn't) do that" a voice whispers to both losing God parts and taking too much nutmeg.
Now I'm contented and thoughts will no longer emerge from the pool.
So I must dive into sleep.
Good night.
Subtle thoughts after 2 tblspns of Nutmeg 4 to 6 hours later
Psychosa Dec 2020
Lifting my head,
I look to those colors painting my reality.
They encapsulate me.

No longer am I          here,
I begin to fall
into the kaleidoscope.

Morphing into the plethora,
the substance of my being
d   i    s   s  i  p    a    t    e   s....

Nothingness becomes one
as everything
discon   nects.

Both in and out of my body,
the colors have taken ahold.
As they morph what's before me,
they paint pictures from within.

I'm taken out of my skin,
as I sink within.
Traveler Nov 2020
If it feels good do it again
In repetitive continuum

Take the mind for a ride
We are mechanically sound
The great and powerful
is hardly earthbound

In the freedom of subjectivity
can hardly exist

Traveling the synapses
Is a very blissful trip!
Traveler Tim

The empty boat is flooded with moonlight
PM Oct 2020
I pushed and pushed all day
and to the trip we went,
but I didn't know what came next.
Day by day you got worse
but you kept on going.
Until it was to late.
Changing my world for ever,
flipping it upside down.
I didn't think you would leave.
Yet it wasn't up to you.

Just a whim of a trip
to a magical place.
It took your life away.
Yet I can't blame the place.
The blame falls on time.
At least that's what they say
Yet it feels differently
like the blame falls on me.
All because of my whim
to a trip I wont forget.
hiraeth Sep 2020
postpone the bitter trip
until he relapses
a grown-up kid
averting the bumblebees
he‘s cluttered with
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