Rolls

Dusk finally breaks so we assert ourselves with ecstasy and weed. We claim omnipotence in pills and crystals, whose uneven facets reflect our fractured souls shone through the darks of our eyes. Whose catalyst propels our transmission down highways of perfect pavement and engraves narcotic hieroglyphs, gashing chasms eventually. The bittersweet glitter in matrix with potentiations of piperazine and lactose. We toast to the eve with ale and liquor-- the sapor of chemical licorice before an overdue nicotine stick. It tapers from tongue and touches stomach and makes me feel pure again. Whose rollercoaster ride excites lust and leaves me caressing myself hours long. My innards are robotic and clang with metallic echoes-- I am a machine of total creation whose gears are greased and grooved marvelously. Driven by emphasis of metamorphic eroticism transitioning between infinite colors-- they drape above; it is a nebula and brushes my cheeks. And smiled on endless lips ear to ear and didn't mind a retorted, confused frown because she didn't understand what I was on. She should be on this, too. She should smile with me. She should hear this music that is coming from nowhere-- the weightless melodies of jazz and blues and the screwdriver bits of electro-pop and trance. They kept me until morning, just as the flooding turned to drought-- the barren Mississippi, the barren Mississippi!-- it won't rain for weeks and my chasm is complete.