Blow

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 26, 2018

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Submitted: August 26, 2018

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Blow

Where?...How?... Woah. Lights. My eyes...adjusting.  Options, picture, backlight 90, contrast 100, brightness 50, sharpness 50, color... There's only black and white. The dark and light. Full recalibration. I glance at my surroundings and see... Her. Mount Everest curves. False. Illusion of grandeur.  Coarse but smooth as a China cup handle. Well as far as I can tell. Personal Intel. Experimental. I'm a user. Confined to the insides of my mind, on a thin line between reality and an ample supply of insignificancy. Solitary incarceration. A puzzle I must solve, before I dissolve into oblivion. Too much thinking. I've finally spawned I guess. No longer a floating camera. Limbs weak but working. I check my pockets. The familiar feels make me smile. Sinister like. Pinnacle equivalent the way my mood sky rockets as I skim my inventory. The tools for the deed in which I am devout. I hold true to the thing that I can't live without. But. Story for another day, as I'm sure that this dream, if so, is forever bending to the will of my demons, so condescending. Alas. Looking over at her, she's my anti depressant, the rock that I stand on when life is depressing. The aroma around her I'm loving the essence no doubt she brings out all my vibe's effervescence. Certain that this grey box that I've somehow ventured too is my state of mind, this...she is the key to unlocking it. I move in, Steve Irwin to an animal of the wild. Eyes opened wide, as that of a curious child I dive in and got beside her. And I snorted her from head to toe. Back and forth I coursed till she was nothing more than residue. Instantly everything turns white...


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