The Vortex

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Tripping, falling ino the vortex,
this wild whirlpool of colors.
Spinning out of this world.
Twirling into stranger times.
Out of control, now, falling faster.
The years roll around me,
like some psychedelic cyclone.
Down ever down, falling to zero.
The colors dim to grey and white,
dissipating my existence,
into a fine grey mist of smoke,
that is still spinning slow,
expanded into a turning
universe of starlike molecules.


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