The hallucinator sees the contents of their mind spread out before them, like dusty old knickknacks brought up from the basement and strewn out in the front yard. Their minds become a kaleidoscope. They look at their life and see themselves as a miracle. An accidental poem by this article in The Atlantic.
Category Archives: Accidental Poetry
THE ARGUMENT
But the argument carries on, goes around corners, crosses the road, turns back on itself, and eventually ends up somewhere neither of us has ever been before–at least, not sober, and not during daylight hours. An accidental poem by Nick Hornby via High Fidelity.
SEATTLE
stupid city smells like fish and sunshine (An accidental poem by Andy.)
GROW TOO TIRED OF CONSCIOUSNESS
We yell at each other until our throats scream.The words (mean) and we know it! It is when we reach unconsciousness: we turn into sweet, tame little cats. Cuddle, we mumble sweetness, we love with honesty. (an accidental poem by kris of ZUPAdream)
{BECAUSE} IT FEELS SO GOOD
THREE DAYS without heartburn! it’s almost worth having it just because {not having it} feels so good (an accidental poem by Andy.)
fog up the windows 