Psilocybin

It's still pitch black night, the pulsing colors are peripheral and subdued, that scheduled fright may pass my future door as I've already seen my own death mask, spinning free fall down a hidden jungle hole, powerful mushroom coursing thru my trusting sensibilities, every moment has its own sliding panel secret room to slip sideways into another corridor realm, its only one house but you're already lost in the cellars of ancestors, the compass broke when worlds cooled down and green became the new red, you were there, you just don't recall that room at all, the mushrooms discuss me in hushed tones, I'll be okay they've just decided, a few more hours of this fantasmic reverie, and I'll find the exit, the turnstile and stairs back up to the bright sidewalks of day.