Ate Face First

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This poem touches on loosing control and going on auto pilot. It is from the perspective of someone who just took bath salts.

Submitted: March 07, 2017

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Submitted: March 07, 2017



I weeble wobble through the double door.

I hobble.

The realization comes that I'm beyond toppled.  


The lights flicker far too fast for others to grasp

But drive me crazy with their indecisive dance.

Creating an illusion of a constant stance.

The shelves lean on me for support

As the store and nature itself distorts.


I came in here for a Gatorade, quenching

Cooling. Not to contort,

crumpled in a pile of sorts.

Broken wrist, soiled shorts.


Bath salts hit like false fate.

Vision is a creature meant to create,

But please not this.


A funnel attached to an ever folding tunnel,

Crumpled and lump filled

Looking like a sunk-in, shrunken face

Housed inside a bleak moonscape

Tearing apart at a pace equivalent to

Ten-trillion time travel training tapes.

Played on loop, like infinity eights.



Crawling around naked, lurching and shaking.

Biting at the brain shapes.

Fighting off the winged fish.

I dig and dive swirling left to stay alive.

I had to get violent to make them silent

And save myself and your life.


I did.

And now it's black.


My eyes open to let light slit

Giving rise to life sandwiched

Between darkness.  


Hospital high rise,

Police stand guard.

Double homicide is the charge

To be applied.


I wanted Gatorade to quench thirst,

But I got double murder cause I




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