Literature
MDMA
I can feel my synapses sending electric jolts to one another,
firing pistons, high powered machine guns.
I can taste the chemicals,
the composition of everything I put my tongue on;
right down to the molecular level.
My spit is acidic, peroxide flavored,
and my head pulses to the insane back beat of a song no one but I can hear.
Every light has an extra glow, an aura, a halo around it,
and the night is ever so inviting.
Being still is not an option in my book;
this story was based on movement.
My teeth, once again 32 bits of glass,
crash against each other in harsh ocean waves of involuntary movement.
My legs, my body, they no l