the pills are s ca tter e
d all across the tile and you
can't even bend down
to clean them up, fingers
trembling and eyes red and
that crushing press of
desperation, isolation,
the sound of the ocean
inside you like
drowning from the inside.
you lean against the speaker,
the bass rumbling your spine
and watch the way the
mourning sunlight prisms
and rainbows across
the floor, fragments of a
colder and brighter world
that you sometimes touch
in entheogenic fits, or
dreams.

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