Ecstasy terrors I feel sick Mostly in the head I don't like the prose of it all Every yellow rose of it all Why does it have to rhyme all the time Such a present, ethereal, word This is But critical faeries sprinkle dust past My eyes just so further or farther That I can't see the hard way But hyenas of sensibility Want me black and white I wasn't polaroided so there's things light won't expose But the dragonflies aren't afraid Of the outside world Exoskeletally But this is alcoholic This is Tylenolic This psychedelic And my only acquaintance is in the asylum
Reason for writing:
I wrote this because because my best friend really went to the mental poem, and she is the only sane person I am even aware of. I thought you should know that she is out now.
Birth sign: Not entered
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