Stoned meander - in blissful thought;
brain pulsing, reaction to illusion.
Closed eye visuals appear in empty alleys:
A forced apparition of those with a face.
Eyes sore from thought... a pain inside.
World's collide, cannot grasp their own fall.
Glooms dis-apparate disperse and collectivise;
Much indignation of truth in absentia.
Ruin of thought, you target my paws
I cackle as burned alive
My skin and my face have melted as paste
While the willow tree outside thrive.
written Dec. 1- 2009... found this on a scrap of paper under my bed. It is the only poem I have from this era and I think its one of those instances where it turned out to be complete garbage.
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