XTC
Lines of excitement.
Is it working?
A twitch.
A flicker.
Direct reflex.
Optic nerve.
Euphoria.
Kryptonites don’t work here.
I float like a butterfly,
sting like a thought too sharp to hold.
Deviated nasal septum.
Switch it.
Circus Maximus
Moderation.
Every experience feels new.
Déjà vu is a myth
we use to make sense of the glitch.
Floating
in air,
in space.
Stars brush past
like soft static.
Every day
feels like a full moon.
⸻
Mary Jane.
I see her
alone,
ripe,
flowers full of fire.
I breathe what you breathe.
We exhale each other
in sacred silence.
⸻
One hits like adrenaline
a jolt in my veins,
a wildfire blooming in my bloodstream,
wrapping me in armor
made of serotonin.
The other
slower,
smokier.
She keeps my feet on the ground,
but lets my mind run free
a stream of impossible thoughts,
world-saving theories,
peace plans formed mid-drift.
Together
a clean fracture
between awareness
and oblivion.
Clarity.
Euphoria.
Unity.
⸻
You strip the thorns,
leave only the bloom.
No brakes.
No warnings.
Just freeway at dawn,
no traffic,
no fear.
911 testing its limits
and I’m in the passenger seat,
laughing like I’ve never been hurt.
Spatial audio.
Astronaut lights.
A dinosaur dream
that glows from inside my skin.
I dissolve
slowly
into the soft folds of my mind.
Become someone else.
Someone who can do no wrong.
Someone better than me.
⸻
Is this how it’s meant to be?
Could I live a life
of quiet joy
without you?
Probably.
But I don’t want that.
I want the soul-crushing devotion.
The drama.
The chaos disguised as romance.
That’s what we’re made for.
That’s what I crave.
As the edges blur,
as the lights dim,
as the pulse slows
what’s left is
chemical intimacy.
“I’ll try anything once.” — The Strokes
⸻
Now it lingers.
The come-down is quiet.
But the want remains.
