Old and New.

Seeking a euphoric death.

One day my heart will arrest.

If not, my mind will divest; into worlds unfurled by alkahest.

Dissolving slowly into the emulsion of nine realms revolving.

Lapping up the sweet nectar, I view myself evolving.

The mushrooms, a disposition of shit; as always.

Enlarge and recede, my eyes bleeding tears of yesterday’s hollow inclinations.

Pupils dancing in the clouds, the sunset so pink and soothing for the duration.

I never felt so unsure of myself; yet so welcome in it’s formation.

I’ll make sure to bring an equivalent gift for the seidr.

So she may leave spit in my hand once again.

So humbled by this clearance of sickly energies.

I await in heat; burning my skin until I shed again.

Sweat dripping from every miniscule opening.

Index upon thumb, the rays absorb into my shadow; no sense in battling you.

Gods of old and new.

Reach out, touch it. (She’s pushing through.)

Reach out, feel it. (She’s calling you.)

It’s only a little further to the promises fulfilled and soon…

It’s the spiritual wars that provide a boon.

Taking my restful hours in simulation pods.

Chewing on amanita caps, risking coma; don’t tell me the odds.

Elderberry soma, dipsomania, convening with the facade.

Removing the wool from my eyes.

Stench of sacred herbs on my fingers and intermingling with my clothes.

A dozen colors produced by sound, I perceive the color of burning cloves.

Tingling in my stomach, a hint of nausea, ringing in my ears, ad nauseam, bold bloodshot sclera, looking upon the daughters of Hera; growing cold.

If I ever come down again, what’s left of my anima will radiate gold.

So humbled by this clearance of sickly energies.

I await in heat; burning my skin until I shed again.

Sweat dripping from every miniscule opening.

Index upon thumb, the rays absorb into my shadow; no sense in battling you.

Gods of old and new.

Reach out, touch it. (She’s pushing through.)

Reach out, feel it. (She’s calling you.)

I’ll make sure to bring an equivalent gift for the seidr.

So she may leave spit in my hand once again.

Here I cry out to join the few.

Index upon thumb, the rays absorb into my shadow; no sense in battling you.

Gods of old and new.

Gods of old and new.

Gods of old and new. –Michael Kabu Ament