Permatripping

I seem to be in the mood to write expressive, non-poetic poems for now. In my head there are pauses and whatnot, but I'm not sure exactly how to express them correctly, or if others hear when they read it what I hear writing it.

Sometimes the patterns in the couch seem to shimmer,

and the world feels wavy and impermanent.

My head floats -- ostensibly connected to my body, but in reality drifting just above it, in its accustomed place, moving -- left, right, forward back -- keeping pace with my legs as they wander.

The boundries between things begin to blur -- like acid, but dreamier, sicker. 

It is, I imagine, something like what a ghost feels, exhausted from the long haunting of a world to which it only partly, faintly belongs.

There is the urge to jump out into space, to test the realness of this reality, to drive fast through the busy streets and feel the adreanalin snap it all back into focus, if only for a moment... to laughingly and fearlessly confront a death that seems no more real than this hazy life.

Competing against it, warm dissolution beckons.  The ghouls of the dream world open wide their wraithy arms and beckon --

join us in this place where the colors merge

join us in this place where emotion fades, and fear is lost

join us in this place and together we will walk the night forever.

Reviews

[miSS LEaf]

i'm not sure why you said this piece 'non-poetic'~ i believe there is a sophisticated category, labled 'prose poem' for this kind of writing, and it happened to suit my taste :)

"to test the realness of this reality.." ~ sometimes i wonder if this is (one of) the reason(s) why some people cut themselves.. i don't know.. ~L