Pick Your Poison

now the fungus can feel uplifted

The mechanisms have become integrated so deeply
that I can't tell which one's me.
Ready, though, I sit in hopes to pounce
upon an empty space that my heart can fill
with explosive gasses and enlightened mushrooms,
until the air is saturated and I'm hopeful to see.

mushrooms, lsd, mdma, dmt, cannabis, and light... pure as fuck

Succubus and Moved Away

most days i don't think of her
but violence greets the rest
precarious and hopeless fool
returning from her breast

i ate the cost of avarice
and crossed to other side
it would have been the end for us
in silence i had died.

so long before geometry
could inject soul with bleach
your giant hands were reaching in
to slowly strangle me

my lioness my friendships eye
abandoned like the sound
of screaming into the abyss
oh who could you be now

Mixed Thoughts About The Future

Two brains and one disease
I've left you standing false at ease
My ruins take this town
In rising brutal from the ground
Legs in step to push ahead
And carry on this life instead
I will not hold back my hands
Until I taste the promised sand

'It's ok' I'll say
In hopes to pray
And dance and sing
'My life will bring
Onto my heart with open eyes
A peace of mind in compromise'


We wait to give and to receive,
but time is sparse for us to see.
I wait for love to strike a tone
with delusions that I'm alone,
the moments pass without a chance
to feel the wind, become the dance.
Without a thought that I could make:
the things we bring are what we take.


Cradled spawn of impulse held
Upon the chest that is compelled
To spiral down and climb back to
A circumstance that's been run through.

A heart is light in palms of fire
When they reach out to taste expired
Sustinance that fuels these ghosts,
I wonder what their grasp may host.
we are but one;
symbiotic and pooling masses
clustered around the light of illusion

climbing this steep canyon wall
momentarily glancing down into the earth's bossom
i am reminded of the contents of my formation, of my legacy

trust's fleeting grasp
displays the presumption of perception
as a weapon of our mind's fight against the real

tiempo del sol

explosively resumptive, my hollow sentiments stumble on one fucked up leg around this circus camp fire.