interpret as you will

they told me i couldn’t
hallucinate without
the LSD,
that i don’t really hear the
wind whisper to me.
but this isn’t
a bad trip. i really do
have nightmares about
my own goddamn mother. and
sometimes i swear the sky isn’t blue
so much as it is the absence
of red. and sometimes
all the speaking i do is just
in my head and
the cars driving by sound like
my best friend committing
suicide after
eighth grade graduation.
this isn’t a bad trip.
i’m telling you, the ghosts
still speak even after
you’ve lost the ability to hear
them.
i am stuck
in this dimension that
you only visit to vacation,
and let me tell you,
you’re never here
when it rains.

this isn’t a bad trip // a.s.m

it’s so cold out here,
my bones are vibrating.
my thumb seems to have forgotten
how to flick a lighter,
but i don’t feel the icy tongue
of the wind on my skin.
i am half-cooked: well done
on the outside, but raw
in the core. perhaps
all i need is a cigarette
to light me. but i know fires
never last on the coldest nights;
even the brightest flames
eventually die.
i can’t hold this
damn bogie still enough
for it to
kiss the flame; the moons
of my fingers are turning purple
and the rawness is
creeping to the surface.

i am still raw in the center // a.s.m

a drowning desire
to dream, you touch my
shoulder and push me to
sleep.
spin cotton candy from
my spine, pour words over
me like maple syrup and
i will taste them, like
black and white memories,
when i wake.

i’m sailing face down
on this ship,
with dinosaur theories
on rippling white waves, and now
i’m running fast
on Italy’s shores;
running towards
crystal green promises
you try not to blink
away;

running faster until
i’m flying
above rooftops to
my grandfather’s heart.

biology daydreams // a.s.m

i am running
in circles from
one dead end to another
with nothing to pour myself
into but the corners of these walls
that silently scream with
termites from within.

and i’m suffocating myself
with warm whispers
in ziploc bags. little
presents; promises
that were made to be broken

by gentle arms and
gentler lips.

i am inhaling stale air.

what was once
fresh is now foul,
no longer breathable, no longer able
to sustain life.

dead (end) // a.s.m