Death on Tobin’s Bed

I was lying on Tobin’s rank bed
when his crazy stars fell on me.
Glowing ceiling tiles lit in shades of
green, blue, orange and red

flew at me; so many comets set free.
Was I really tripping on acid?
Feeling them hit me, envelope my body
penetrate me and pulse through me.

Falling to warped wooden planks of the floor;
I swear that it took damn near forever.
Laughing so hard I coughed and threw up
covered in drugs and rancid spoor

with tastes of bile and stomach churn
abrasive, heavy on my tongue.
And then Tobin hit me with unrelenting fists.
Again and again, waves pounding, fiery burn

it was not a good thing, such an awful
feeling. No that pain was the not the same
as feeling those Gods be damned stars.
Crying out through a nasty mouthful

of vomit and pills, bong water pass…
Passing out and violently reawakening
in another time and other spaces.
Where am I? Was that the white grass

or green sheets that caress,
envelope my sweat sick body.
Feeling a needle jab into my arm,
a rush as my heart accelerates

just past light speed. God, those stars…
Not quite gone, not quite lucid.
Hollow tinny sound of someone laughing
it wasn’t me. I was just too far…

Muted voices chattering far off, too shrill
knowing full well that they still weren’t me.
Knowing then, that my innocence was lost
never to be able to return, for good or for ill.

One day soon I realized that I was going to die.
I just didn’t think it was going to be tonight.
Not while I was lying here, on Tobin’s filthy bed,
because all I wanted to do was get high.

© 2015 p.hill

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