The other day,
I got high on some LSD
The things in my house started talking to me about life
And worse, they made sense.   

My bed says:
“Life is about being a support system,
Even if mostly, they don’t treat you right,
Even if they tread all over you, stomp on you,
Leave you a mess, unmade,
But at the end of the day,
Being the one that they come home to,
To forget their woes”

My micro-wave oven says
“It’s about getting your buttons pushed constantly,
Using an insane amount of energy to keep others content
But always being undermined
I mean I can make a grilled rotisserie chicken,
But all you use me to do is heat that leftover curry”

According to my computer
“Life is having to juggle an overwhelming amount of data,
More than you know what to do with
while jolts of electric currents run through you
And hoping that the creator will guide you
But at the same time
It’s having to open too many tabs at once
that you can’t even keep track of
while my internals scream
Just so I can meet expectations
And deliver mild amusement”

But the best answer came from the pills I was taking…
“Life is about enjoying the highs,
But also crying in the aftermath,
It’s about hallucinating
And getting others to hallucinate with you
So that you can agree on one
And call it Reality”

Yeah…I should stop doing drugs.

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