Postdromal

After the colours fade –
the yellows, pinks, and blues
And the vibrations mellow
the lines blurred, faint
The world begins anew
The writher; the contortionist; the speaker of tongues
slips into the night
Replaced by peppermint and lavender perfumes
a settling into life
The nerves still raw
The neck stiff with strain
The teeth ground and trembling
The tongue plays with an iron-y taste
And the ears of glass relax
As eyes slow dim and pulsate
The brain sinks low, flushed of all bad blood
Thickened hemoglobin – knives and bludgeons
The world aglow and smells delight
Euphoria twirls for a night
A morning; A realization that too soon
The writher; the contortionist; the speaker of tongues
Shall return

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