Kianna // 19// Union City, NJ// @kicosmic
Here's a poem I wrote in the midst of an acid trip during my peak. Each line is precious to me because it holds a memory I've experienced in a perception no one will ever fully grasp. This is called 'thought crime'
Red room red room
Blunt in hand, can of spray paint in the other.
White and blue room.
With the soft feather hanging on the string.
Cool, sweet air and calmed senses.
Almost too calm so we leave to the slayers bar with the witches and warlocks for bartenders
Man passed the blunt across the ouija board.
Inhale the suffocation you're about to feel in 5,4,fuck.
Red room with the mosh pit spit on the walls.
Guitar in one hand, fist in the other.
Thin fishnets and painted pants that help you through the night.
Set you free.
Saw dust blizzard covering the night.
Saw dust for the day.
The building won't last a day, won't decay.
We throw it all away.
For condos, oh our mysterious town so mystical.
We say goodbye for the duplexes.
Last night didn't exist.
Perished in the commune.
Like the commune.
Ladies in white dancing and spinning for the spirits.