Here is some stuff I found, no big deal or anything, just thought you might wanna read some of it... This one is called ghost, I wrote it while on mushrooms last Friday... Insane colors in wildfire magic scour the grasslands for purity. A purity that many search for but few find. The nods seem to flush out all the impurity. All the dirt. All the ghosts of past nods. Because every not leaves a ghost. A ghost to remind us of the memories left behind. But the memories aren't always so pure. Its just a matter of which ghost will find you first. And how long the memory will last. Things are so much better here. I only hope I can get out before its too late. -------------- This one is more of a journal entry then poetry, but I think it might have a bit of that mixed in with it, its called An old trip. I wrote it a few days after the trip when I was thinking about it. It seems like only yesterday that I thought everything was 3D. It has become no more then a memory. but can a trip really get old? It comes back in nods with brief mental interludes. The trips of Christmas past as it was. A trip will never get old as long as you dont forget. Forget the insight or forget the tricks your mind plays on you, either way it gets old. I will be gone soon. Dont forget me. ------------- Both probably not my greatest work but some work none the less. Be kind with criticisim