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Marble, Coconut, Bluebird

The colors are so vibrant, the shapes so sharp, and sounds so crisp.  My body tingles with pleasure.  It's like Disney Land, driving 190 mph on the interstate, mixed with the Three Stooges on ecstasy, topped off with the smell of coconut rum on a Caribbean shore.

Why the fuck is everyone so sad when every synapsis firing in my brain brings me closer and closer to paradise?

I quiver with pleasure.  I feel the warmth of sweet, melted, cherry syrup flowing through my fingers.  I see the faces of clowns, laughing in my kitchen. 

Something is wrong.

My wife's face is a picture of agony...chiseled from marble...a statue of sorrow.

My children lie motionless...eyes wide...looking off into the distance.

As I start to come back to myself within my own mind, I begin to convulse.

"Please GOD...NO"

No answer.

I awaken from my slumber.  My brain hurts, my bones ache, my gut rots, and the feeling of dirty flames flows through my veins.  I question the officer in the front seat of the cop car as to what happened.

He replies, "Son, I don't know what drugs you were on, but you'll be singing like a bluebird from jail for a looooong time...."

 

 

 

Where the fuck did I put that gun?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Have a good night bishes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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