Bad Mushrooms

Butterflies as big as bats with phosphorescent wings My ears can’t speak My mouth can’t see My eyes begin to scream Bugs are climbing up the walls Spiders come out of my skin My mattress melts into tomato sauce in which I start to swim The ceiling spins in a circle I’m holding my eyeballs in my hands Pointing them at things I want to see but cannot understand The TV walks across the room There’s Myra Gulch upon her broom Jimi Hendrix rides a star smashing bugs with his guitar Snakes appear upon my head Look in the mirror and I am dead I point my eyeballs at the plate all the mushrooms I must have ate Senses now in overload Waiting for the crash to start Sensing things I must leave untold I swallow an eye and can see my heart Falling Bawling Insides are crawling Spinning Sinning The mushrooms are winning Aching Faking Never reawaking Crying Dying Nothing is complying I wake up not knowing How many hours may have passed I’ll have to try those mushrooms again That trip was such a gas