soup of hallucination

Everyday I slip back into a creamy soup of hallucination

The light will catch the texture of the bathroom floor

The grooves of the conveyor belt of my cash register

It mostly happens when I am alone, or lost in thought

I stare at trees that seem to be breathing

I’ll feel my car rolling at red lights

Optical illusions will always fascinate me

Kaleidoscopes and hula hoops have never been more memorizing

And everyone was just

Rock stacking

Some people know what I mean



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