poetry

Midnight Acid

By Amy Thomson

 

It’s hitting me

all at once,

energy

part of me,

part of it,

something more,

dancing off screen.

My poem is       d  a  n  c  i  n  g.

Inhale

can’t fail.

Intense.

No sense.

Senses on fire,

Perspire,

Waxahatchee lullabies

energize.

What a night,

who knew?

Now you do.

It’s strong,

so are you

you’ll be fine.

Give it time.

Pupils gleam,

two black pools,

tools to see the unseen,

psychedelic gene,

third eye clean.

 

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poetry

“Molly, you bitch.”

By Amy Thomson

One hit,

drip drip.

Up nose,

down throat,

Burn.

Yearn.

Safety,

hasty.

Too fast,

outcast,

Too much,

my crutch:

Anna Marie,

I look to thee.

Stay with me.

Hear my plea.

“I’ll use my student ID.”

Glow sticks,

shitting bricks.

Fucking shit,

losing it.

Call Max,

attacks:

Panic,

manic.

Implode,

unfold.

Vertigo,

we couldn’t know.

Just breathe.

Adderall?

Trip, then fall.

Molly, you bitch.

Nerve glitch.

Which witch

would pitch

fucking with you

after going through

your wrath,

aftermath.

Mushroom cloud

enshroud.

Lesson learned,

This bridge has burned.