Cheap Thrills by Osman Naseem

All we did was breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out

Till our breaths were a mix of minty coal and dirty water, we exhaled zesty chalk outlines
Till our brains throbbed beneath our skull plates and our bowels shook like earthquakes
Till our vision was like a melancholy monochrome music video from the early 2000s music scene
Till the music flooded our souls and distortion from the bad speakers was an ethereal metronome rocking on our hearts
Till the hair on our arms erected like an army of titans made out of matchsticks but our legs felt as weak as toothpicks
Till we felt connected to the womb of mother earth by a lightning bolt
Till our cold hearts were warmer than the ash in the furnace and our crooked minds were like a spear in the hands of Zeus
Till our eyes were so red that everything we looked at began to rust
Till we felt like Buddhist monks in biker jackets

Till we shivered like there were exorcisms on our fingertips, we felt like puppet masters of our own egos
Till our toes grew roots and kept us from leaving, we played piano on the star studded skyline, as the moon moved closer and danced on our heads
Till we couldn’t stand and our throats turned to catacombs
and our tonsils became the gates to the graveyards in our lungs, through which the ghosts of our desires made their bittersweet escape

We discovered that travelling back in time is possible,
because the sound we inhaled from the flute and exhaled from our mouths manifested in the form of dancing angels spawned from the demonic heat
Our imaginations were ink blots and blood cells,
our ears, ringing like bells on the last day of school
We were on fire, like superheroes, but in need of help
We fell flat on our faces as if the floor was a prayer mat
As if lemmings climbed into our ears and crawled up our brainstems screaming “euphoria euphoria euphoria!” over and over
We didn’t know whether this was anesthesia or euthanasia, so we made rings of smoke hoping a Quidditch ball with a Little Wing would fly through
But we forgot, that the truth is stranger than fiction, and Jimi Hendrix is dead


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