"diethylamide" poems
i exist somewhere between the kick drum and the snare
i am the blood thundering in our veins
i am the rhythm that gives us life
i am the 375 nanometers of ultraviolet light shining down on you
i am the space between the notes and the silence before the drop
i am oscillation, reverberation, undulation of bassline
i am rattling ribcage from excess decibels
i am titinnitus waiting to strike.
3,4-methylenedioxy-N-methylamphetamine, Lysergic acid diethylamide, tetrahydrocannabinol, ethanol, benzoylmethylecgonine; choose your poison so that you may enjoy me better
i am the sweat that slicks our skin and keeps us cool
i am the longing look that leaps from eye to eye
i am mellifluous melody, motivator of movement, master of mind.
i am the sea of strangers you find yourself lost in, minimally clad bodies moving in ways you didn't know were possible.
i am the fire-poi spinner, the LED hula-hooper, the melbourne-shuffling madman, the obnoxious bro, the ancient hippie, the obviously underage girl, the idiot overdosing in the corner, and the person wearing more pony beads than clothes.
i am the rave.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
Her saturate beauty
in violet black light.
The narcotic consent
some Saturday plight.
Colours are bleeding
a vivid dream night.
Lysergic Acid Diethylamide,
Right?
A sleep pattern paisley
purple and green.
Faceless adversaries
heard, yet unseen.
A motionless panic,
unable to run.
Contorted, curled fingers,
now, isn't this fun.
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 12:19 AM UTC
I’m psychosexual
But somehow
A hyper-intellectual
It’s like a festival
All up in my mind
Fueled by love, lust, rage, maybe hate
Lysergic acid
Diethylamide
Hopeless dreams and psilocybe
I would entice you
To look inside
But I’d fear for your sanity
It’s no place for the blind
I once thought of ending it
Closing the blinds
On a cold winters eve
In the dead of night
The bottle in my hand
I broke the glass
No liquid came out
I was drunk off my ***
This was how I was
Or perhaps how I am
I question everyday
If this was part of the plan
Cuts all up my arm
I’ve always said self-harm
Was for the weak and twisted
With their minds tangled like yarn
But now I see truth
I’m an agnostic
All I need was proof
I’m a concrete home with no roof
I’m a writer, a brother
A musician and a lover
I’m a man and a boy
An old soul that never knew joy
She was momma’s little angel
Starry eyed with her dreams
Turned **********
******* randoms for the fiend
A hopeless romantic
His heart sealed up hermetically
He strung himself up when she spat out
“You’re pathetic”, apathetically
What a broken society
It’s the norm to suffer
It’s a personality flaw
To give a **** about another
This is why I’m insane
You see why I’m a ******* ******
Always getting caught up screaming
“I’m just trying to do the right thing, you know?”
A semi-schizo voice
I’m perpetually trying to shut up
Showing compassion for others
Only made me an altruistic ******
So now you see
What happens when you read in-between
These are my minds insides
I hope they made you scream
But I only brought you to the doorstep
Would you dare to step in?
All I can tell you is
I never made it out
There are true monsters within
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
Before sunset
pure Lysergic acid diethylamide
Beach
Slight coolness to the air
Places tab Upon tongues
Lips brush
One hour into journey
consciousness expanding
kaleidoscopic gaze
Peculiar colors
The waves dance in a jazz like pattern
softly he runs his fingers delicately through my scalp and constricts my hair like a snake wrapping its long smooth body around the mouse, its prey or lover
I lean closer
our lips brush, our cheeks blush
so do our surroundings they turn a ravishing tickled pink hue
gently we sink
and melt into grains of sand
gentle coition, his charming motion
idiosyncratic complexion casted on our bare frames
rich reflections of golden yellow and deep lilac
Dazed Graze
dusk to dawn
drawn to musk
Where is my mind?
was this just a mundane muse once again?
Where is my otherworldly lover?
Unknown.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
Dropping it for the first time
lysergic acid diethylamide
there on
Pescadero's beach
with night hunkered down
in the dunes
We howled at the waves
of the wild Pacific
stamped our feet
on the dense moist sand
and miracles radiated outward
from each footfall
uncounted stars
galaxies somewhere deep
in that gritty sky
the sand alive
with phosphorescent life
Oh and we laughed
swore oaths to each other
spied the turbid moon
as if for
the first time
her hair in a mess
of wind-torn cloud
It was perfection by the sea
until
some wise old hippies
alerted us to our danger:
"The heat's in the parking lot, man."
Panic.
Crawling like drug-addled moon dogs
on our bellies
through the dunes
to find a near-empty
parking lot.
No heat.
No hippies.
Only the wan moonlight
vacant pavement.
And so in our glorious excess
to a sandstone cave
where a box of whispers
was found
and poetry invented.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 3:18 PM UTC
The stars are congregating
Soap bubbles in your brain
I’m sorry but you might
Not be used to this terrain
You are driving through tunnels
Like boiled blood through a funnel
That you poured in the drain
I’ve seen a lot of people swear
That they were just unaware
Even though I saw the truth glaring
They’re pupils they stared
Through which I travel through dimensions
Like an interstate freeway
Dragging my heels on the space time
Grape vine state slide
Into a lick of diethylamide
An eyedropper of sorts
Through which the ego aborts
And spills a gallon of lies
A pool of despising cries
For some new pair of eyes
Thankful I’m still breathing smog
As if to clog up my thoughts
And stick a cork in the skies
The clouds are congregating
Like two puppets debating
To settle on another bucket
Of prefabricated rain
As thick as beauty magazines
Thinner than thighs of her dreams
Longer than love till she creams
Screaming and kicking in pain
Believing Christ is a savior
But he’s just last month’s flavor
An old stale life saver
It’s time to move on
From the shackles of becoming
A statistical input of population running
Carbon copy photos of shunning
The same solutions that arise
When we’ve burned down the sky
Will we have time to deny
Another child a life
To bury sunlight with strife
And settle off in the distance
Constructing walls of resistance
To the change that we’re riding on
Life that we’re gliding
And sliding three dimensional thoughts
Like time we we’re biding
Playing cards for a new way
to slowly decay
but I’m through with the new car
aggression and corner bar
depression and desperate
obsession to drool over movie stars
I’m out of the toll booth
And riding on rails
Of universal entrails
I follow loops in the same **** series
Of loose nails
Pulling a man apart
And attempting to reignite his heart
But my words are just seeds
Falling like ash in the breeze
And they land in your soil
And it’s up to your hands
To follow up with the toil
Of trading oil for light
Creating words out of sight
Lighting candles for the journey
As we enter the plight
There’s not a reason to fight
Just sit back and light up
A joint and call it a night
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 12:27 PM UTC
Vasodilation,
Making my skin crawl.
Wander through the window pane,
and paint the way you want.
Wondering why walls wax and wane,
Breathing deep to call my name.
Vasodilation, to the numbing of my brain.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
why is it that poets always
claim that there are demons about them
rather than books -
where's the real horror movie?
i know, persuasive public speaking
leaves little room for anecdote -
but still the poets claiming
the existence of demons rather than
the existence of books!
this cradle of ownership with you
necessarily taking
lysergic acid diethylamide...
or maybe i'm just dreaming with the illiterates
an a, b, c?
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 4:32 PM UTC
I've been trying to write for months
More desperate than junkies on city corners
Because the lines I write on my paper
Are better than the ones you take up your nose
Paper in this notebook is worth more than the paper that you brag about having on social media
You see I've taken to choosing words and phrases
Rather than choosing what strand to smoke next
Fancy words like abittor
Do more for me than Lysergic acid diethylamide
Withdrawls from pen and paper are worse than
Withdrawls from amphetamines
Being a writer
Is something you are never warned about
Because one day you will on top of the world
And the next day you will be on the edge
Just to get an adrenaline rush and motivation to write
Why do you think the best writers sucumb to alchohal stains, white noses, and scared veins
The best writer I know has shelves of prescriptions, like a library of books
My favorite poems are inspired not by writers lines, but rather lines I chop myself
Drinking your poems with ***** as a chaser
No one warns you about being a poet
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC