Ice brewed till the filler,
Microscopic colors twirl,
Oh what a thriller.
Condensed spinning inside,
Outside… on the other wide sky,
Drinking my fill till I whither.
Its rolling and now coming by,
Say “here boy,
Get on for the ride.”
Taking place in the circle,
Down, no … high;
Climb back up to repeat,
Filled to the brim in uppers,
Downers, and mixed in color;
Living the American Dream,
Locked fear, not loathing;
Here’s the best part of the ride,
The best trip made from micro dot.
Here comes the best part…
You come for the trip;
So get on and ride.
Animals trance you in a beautiful sound,
While the ceiling snakes faster in circular rounds.
“Hey! That seems loud… what if the neighbors hear?
Let’s turn it down,” distorted in here.
“Hey man! It’s still getting louder in sound,”
“But man the music’s turned all the way down.”
A telephone rings when no telephone exist,
People talking upstairs; though
We’re all that exist.
The walls have become a fun house,
Don’t fear, though that one
Seems to grab and speak colors…
Why can I taste sound?
“You know man… roll up the come down,
Oh it’s so pretty, and I taste sound.”
“Man, I feel fugue amnesia;
Who am I? What am I?
I forget what is around.”
Broken cigarette lost in the clouds.
Distorted… I never wish to come down.