Bad Trip Poem by DM W

A terrible sickness,
Too vague to comprehend,
Has entered our dreams.

Warning signs emanate,
In the pits of our stomachs:
Burning sensations that will not relent.

I'm moved by your presence
As we cling to fading remnants of Beauty.
I value small, consoling mercies.

I note the gradual collapsing
Of every texture & surface.

Familiar objects become eerie & obscure.

O this unholy condition of atrophy!
O this marked change in the weather!

The wind is now howling!
The black dogs are barking!

The stars are dead.

Time is disjointed.
Time is a terminal disease.

As we gaze into the dark mirror,
We see ourselves ageing,
Moment by moment.

The future is a chasm.