they told me to eat a lemon peel and wait 45 minutes, for euphoria, and what did i have to lose by biting through that bitter rind other than a lingering acrid taste on the back of my tongue, like bile in the back of my throat. low risk for the reward of activating the pineal gland, of being washed over by euphoria, opening that elusive third eye of perception.
but nothing happened.
now i am high as hell in a bed not mine, alone, after my baby brother's wedding.
still waiting for the valve to open, for the flow of that ancient greek pneuma, that breath, to tap that unassuming pinecone of an organ of excess and delirium open, calling to the goddess of strife and discord through the taste of zest, to channel this incessant rage, turn chaos into coping.
the stars are so far away, unable to be caressed as they're dying, already dead, light taking ages to fade, to blink out of existence. so far away from here, in a black sea of nothing, abysmal and freezing. poke holes in me, pinpricks, i wonder if i too can shine from within, if my void holds any light that won't be noticed when it fades.
@nosebleedclub June 29th - Lemon Rind
