I find at times,
Whether by chemical or trauma,
This force comes over me,
A kind of visual confusion,
Colours dancing in every course,
Surroundings growing indistinct,
My eyes glossing over,
Cellophane in the air,
Everything boils down to a blur,
A prismatic soup,
My brain jumping into its depths,
Sights and sounds and frights,
Lost on the tongue of my eyes.
WorldofHarley 