Psychedelove

Psychedelove

A Poem by wordstobreathe
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in all honesty this piece was simply a therapeutic process of me rambling about how tripping on shrooms made me realize I was in the wrong relationship going on a trip to nowhere

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My last trip was taken with you. I find that symbolic. Perhaps it was not just shroom induced tears, but you induced tears. That is not fair; I cannot blame the waterfalls that fell out of my tear ducts on just you. What I meant to say was you and I. You and I made those tears fall. An eighth in a shroomie smoothie sounds cute and fuzzy until I was a blubbery mess terrified of going to the bathroom alone. We planned on going on the trip together. But you threw it all up right when it was about to kick in. I stomached it though. I kept them down and faced it all. I remember looking at your face that was transforming into something that was no longer your face. I could not tell if I loved it or hated it. I wanted to love it though. Correction: I wanted to be utterly and completely in love with it. Just like when I was a little girl and I tried to force myself to believe in God, I so badly wanted to force myself to be in love with you. But I can not force, much like the streams prying themselves from my eyelids, I must let it flow. You and I did not flow. Not anymore anyway. Or maybe never at all. Does my mind create these things? Try to force these things? Want so badly it is willing to deceive me? For some time. But not forever. You wanted forever. Only I don’t think you really did. The same way the fear made you yack up the magic mushrooms, fear made you want to stop the trip. I will always go on the trip no matter how terrifying it may be. I really thought you were helping me, but then I remember I was only indoors because of you. Yes you got me through the bad trip, but f**k you were the factor that made it bad! The same way I cried and laughed simultaneously and could not tell what I was feeling, I feel like that now. Like I am so confused and I am not sure why I am laughing or crying or laugh crying or cry laughing. I told you crying was my side effect, but I found that hilarious. It is crazy how even when my subconscious mind was in a wonderland you tried to gaslight me. Not tried, succeeded. I said I couldn’t tell if I was happy or not. You told me I was enjoying myself. I believed you. Why the f**k did I believe you? I was not okay. I was grasping for you. I should never have to grasp for you. Why did you keep me grasping for you? And I released my grasp. But I’m not there in the story yet. I remember the trip and every stop. I remember you driving and me being scared in the passenger seat because you were the one taking me on roads I didn’t get to choose for myself to go down. The symbolism wont stop. I remember crying over the last Pisces I let destroy a piece of me. You then told me that people are paths. You said that the hardest parts of my life haven’t happened yet, but that you’d be there for me through them. I believed you. I remember sobbing over the thought of more paths and more pain. But being filled with bliss over you being there. I think that is fucked up. And I’m not sorry for the amount of times I’m saying f**k because f**k let us not forget our furthest romance was f*****g. We fucked on the trip. Of course. I remember the f*****g being the end of my trip. Ironically, f*****g was what really triggered the trip called us. That damn jetski we met on. You rode that too. More irony. We began with me on the back and you controlling where on the water I was going. No no no. How the f**k (yes I’m saying f**k again) did I not realize that before. This before. Now I can’t stop realizing. Crying into my waffles at breakfast the day after my trip was really just part of the trip. I remember thinking of my dad. More irony. Did my daddy issues lead me to another s****y relationship? There I go being unfair again. For a s****y relationship we were painted pretty. Pretty s****y. Or perhaps the s****y can be pretty. I do love you. I don’t regret you. But I can’t decipher what is real from fake. I remember that in the trip called us. Me saying nothing is real and you screaming it is real it is real. Kind of like I left and you screamed no you love me. I do love you. But love isn’t enough to make something real. Not our love anyway. Our love is was a trip. A screaming crying, hard belly laughing, confusing, windy path, painful, but I’m here with you trip. I am sorry. I do not know if I am apologizing to you or myself. I can not make this trip stop. Please stop. Is this why were not supposed to do drugs? Or maybe this is the magic the fungi promised. I am magic too, you know. I think you did know. I deserve my own magic. I hope you find some of your own. I wish I could stop the trip but I never do I keep going. I know I ended our trip, but I hope you understand it is not the same as when you threw up. I hope you stop throwing up. I hope you taste your own magic. I hope I learn my cry from my laugh. I wish you were here by pink floyd is really beautiful when on shrooms, but really f*****g sad when I think of us there is no more us. I am not having waffles but I am crying all over this s**t piece of writing. The s****y is pretty though, I said that before. You were right about people being paths. I wonder where my trip will take me next, and I have faith I led you to the path where you’ll find the magic. Don’t throw it up. I don’t want to be confused anymore I can’t tell if I love shrooms or hate them. Its you they’re symbolic of. I love you. I hate you. I miss you. I didn’t need you. You made me comfortable, like when I was tripping balls so hard I couldn’t go to the bathroom without you. But f**k why did that make you happy? Is this making me feel better or worse? I may have replaced your habit of gaslighting with my own brain. This trip is f*****g crazy. Don’t do drugs. Love. Love is the worst drug. Love is a chronic, brain frying psychedelic that will drive you mad. I’ve gone mad. 

© 2020 wordstobreathe


Author's Note

wordstobreathe
I truly don't know if any mind but my own can comprehend this, so tell me what you take away if anything. Thanks for reading.

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Added on August 29, 2020
Last Updated on August 29, 2020
Tags: trip, love, pain, shrooms, drugs, laugh, cry, writing, sad, confused, therapy

Author

wordstobreathe
wordstobreathe

albany, NY



About
I know I'm an artist because without creating I feel as if I'm dying more..