Contributor: Paul Tristram
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I was up!
I was tripping?!?!
I had finally done it.
Two hundred magic mushrooms.
It was not funny like people had said
even though I was laughing.
There were no giant rats.
I was not being chased by pink elephants.
Huge Pac-men were not eating my feet.
And there was absolutely no sign of nuns with piranha faces.
It was just me laughing and crying all at the same time.
I was with five other people but I felt totally alone.
Just me and my ruptured personality.
There was wave after wave of emotional fear.
A dangerous intoxicating excitement.
I was scared shitless but I was enjoying it.
I started chewing the inside of my mouth, I bit too hard,
it bled, it felt good.
I took a drink from my cider bottle.
I didn’t need the cider.
I didn’t need fuck all!
I was finally tripping.
I had found a hidden question-less answer.
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Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.
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- -
I was up!
I was tripping?!?!
I had finally done it.
Two hundred magic mushrooms.
It was not funny like people had said
even though I was laughing.
There were no giant rats.
I was not being chased by pink elephants.
Huge Pac-men were not eating my feet.
And there was absolutely no sign of nuns with piranha faces.
It was just me laughing and crying all at the same time.
I was with five other people but I felt totally alone.
Just me and my ruptured personality.
There was wave after wave of emotional fear.
A dangerous intoxicating excitement.
I was scared shitless but I was enjoying it.
I started chewing the inside of my mouth, I bit too hard,
it bled, it felt good.
I took a drink from my cider bottle.
I didn’t need the cider.
I didn’t need fuck all!
I was finally tripping.
I had found a hidden question-less answer.
- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.
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Paul Tristram
