The Trip

I bleed my essence, bubbling, boiling, and dancing
in a swirling symphony of twisted dreams.
I observe the pointless wanderings of my occupants,
glaring at them, scurrying for some unknown and unimportant goal.
I push with the might of the wind,
yet have no power against the binds of conformity that hold me still.
My colors swirl together, green merging with red, blue with yellow,
like an intricate kaleidoscope of one's fantasy.
The sky is falling, I am falling, drops of plaster spilling forth
upon the terrified onlookers who spew sugars onto the brown-green rug.
A strange operetta of whoops and screams emanates from the area
as the feeble-minded creatures roll around below.
My insides glow with phosphorescence, black as the sun,
a passionate alternating fuscia jumping from the sky to the ground, to the sky.
A soft gray smoke caresses my side, sliding upwards into the night, lifting with it the thoughts and cares of the entities laying in unconsciousness below.
I look upon myself, the twisted circle of insanity plaguing my soul,
I feel that I am losing my grip on reality. Make it stop, make it stop.

-Dave & Niles-