I push the plunger home again and wait
For multi-coloured patterns to gyrate...
Off we go! I'm flying once again -
'Psychedelic Airtours - you won't return the same'.
Lying on my floating bed I feel
That visions swirling in my head are real.
'When at last the doors are clean' said Blake,
'Things will be revealed just as they are - in endless state'.
A little bit too much this time I fear
(Banshees wails and violins I hear)
Encased in isolation now I cast
away the very life I vowed would last.
My arm hangs limp, inert, and stained with blood.
This may have fixed me well, but I sense that it's for good.
©2005 Jon Lloyd
Jon Lloyd
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bedsit-10pm/
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