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Spartan poetry selection: The Trip

By Tyvan Burns



I did not need a trip, but I went on one.

Not for vacation, not where there was sun.

But where there was darkness, an out of breath run.

I felt magnetic, I felt synthetic,

I felt pathetic, but I felt like magic.

My cells crawling outside of my body, moving in tragic.

The trip did not consist of fun, but it consisted of anxiety and panic.

I was going through depression, I was going through manic.

My eyes were sinking like the Titanic.

Pupils, looking like a black hole.

Starting to feel useless, like I had no soul.

Feeling hot like hell, then cold like the North Pole.

I felt like the taste of water was my fuel, it…

Made me tread closer and closer to the shallow pool.

The pool, as in my normal state of mind.

This trip led me to the cruel and unkind,

But I am back now, as I have learned my lesson.

But “have I met the devil?” is what I question.

The possession, that I have felt through this trip

Was no joke, no acting, no script.

This all was because of my mind being stripped.

Wanting to be in the clouds, but ended up in a crypt.

A ditch, hell, the unknown.

I felt stoned and disowned As I felt alone with no train of thought to condone.

This trip was not a fantasy, but a nightmare.

My eyes staring in the mirror seeing evil glares.