a Poem By Raquel Swann
The juice was tainted, I should not have drank from it.
The intoxicating aroma called to my pheromones,
in a way that cannot be explained by words.
Beads of sweat collected on my forehead
and dripped over my brow.
I became delirious.
Mere thoughts echoed
through the hollow halls
of my mind.
Voices of angels sang songs
which heralded good fortune,
glory, and love.
In perfect unison I believed,
as this fever took hold of me.
Those, whose untainted sight
could see for miles what I could not
for inches, pressed warm compresses
against my head.
When this sickness broke,
I would never be the same again.