scrapbook of hallucinations

It was something in my coffee. Yes, it was that. I drink it black. So the taste is potent. Obscuring what my so-called friend put there.

Yet I know. Like I know to ignore that rippling yellowish thing on the floor.

How do I know?

Because, I know. Oh yes. I know! Don’t doubt me. Do you know what happened to those who don’t believe me?

Well, it’s terrible to be sure. Just as twisted as what I plan to do to my false companion. She poured a hallucinogen into my drink. She thought I wouldn’t realize and I would go insane and fall from the tallest point of the mansion. Then she could marry my brother and inherit our fortune.

But she didn’t know I’ve been taking hallucinogens for some time. Making myself used to their effects so that when she tried to dose me I would be able to see through the imagery so that I could kill her.

I see her behind the floating eyeballs. I see her before the spinning doors. I see her beyond the lakes falling from the ceiling. I see her inside the pulsating green pyramids on the revolving turnstiles in the walls.

And I see how I will kill her. I see myself killing her so diabolically that her ghost will scream in agony for years without end.


Artwork by Paul Angelosanto