The Psychedelic ‘Shroom

The vagabond’s in a wooded frame of mind.
In a planted shack designed to flow behind – a psychedelic thought.

Who cares if my poems rhyme or not?  Who cares?

Kneeling down to the monster, in a quiet pathetic way,
blinding psychedelics, and a long light gray… mushroom.

Who cares if I eat this ‘shroom or not?  Who cares?

Thoughts of leaving bring about anxiety… and doom.
Kneeling down to the ‘shroom; its long stalky magic,
excited for the trip outside the shack – a psychedelic racetrack.

All I care about is the talking purple orb inside my backpack.
Who cares about their nasty negative feedback?

Who cares!”

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