Dated 16-May-2001
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What you call your “trip”
I call my life.
The colors that you see,
Ripped from your brain with drugs,
I see in the rainbow.

The things I see in my mind,
The same things seen in schizophrenic rants,
Are merely cartoons that life gives to me,
For a job well lived.

You flip,
And you rave,
And you trip,
And you cave.
I just walk down the block,
And see things in the shadows that send you to ER

Don’t think that I judge,
Though I know I once did,
For tweaking your brain,
To see things that are hidden.

But inside of us all,
Is an innate ability,
To see the unseen,
And end the futility,

Don’t envy me, though,
And my views of the world,
For they’re constant, and total,
I can’t shut them off.
You can come down.
I only can die.