Levels of Acidity

Original poem, inspired by Tom Wolfe’s novel, The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test



Somewhere along those yellow school buses is one particularly out of the ordinary.

Worn down, painted, you’d think manic people designed it, and you’d be right.

Kesey was the pack leader, we were all his puppets.

The acid industry rose, the population of puppets became fascinated with anything and everything.

We’ve returned back to the acid generation.


Clickbait catches our eyes, even if the video is a one star on the charts.

The trust meter has gone down, scamming being prominent in technology.

We’ve all consumed acid, living in this generation.

We’ve all hallucinated and smiled, entering our alternate state of mind.

It’s a better place, being somewhere where you’re the one in control.


Trump can’t control our acid trips, but we can control him.

Nixon can’t record us, he can’t understand what’s running through our minds.

The police are mad that they can’t figure us out, so they arrest us.

Handcuffs, restraint, recording devices. Acid is our only escape to freedom.


Let us have this. We’re protected under the first amendment right.

We’re doing nothing wrong, just having some fun in a boring old town.

Adventures, adventures, adventures is all we can ever think of.

Just one little taste and we’ll reach our dream destination. Everything will be okay.


Hush hush, and hurry up, let’s go.

The sirens fade as we escape the bars that kept us trapped.

Tick, tick, tick, the time is running out.

We all need to try acid at least once in our life.


Ding dong, the bell rings. The neighbor reported you for noise.

It was just a party, I tell the officer, as he sniffs my red solo cup.

What’s in the cup, the officer says, swishing the liquid around.

It’s just orange juice, I say, and he stares me down for a moment.


The walls are caving in, the guests begin to crowd.

The officer takes my cup and sips it, reacting sourly to the taste.

He places us all in handcuffs and read us our Miranda rights.

Then it hits him and he lets us go, as he joins our acid night.


He radios that he’s not feeling well, so he’s taking the night off.

Then, he closes the door behind him, and we all party the night away.

As the moonlight turns to sunlight, we wake up and realize,

We’re in a different generation, but the acid levels continue to rise.

Indestructible: Excerpt from Chapter 1

“Things will be different soon. I’ll meet new people, stay out of drama, and be who I really am.” Saying that was one thing, but really, who can predict the future? Not everything you wish for or declare will come true. Life isn’t based off of Aladdin or Cinderella. You may wish upon a genie lamp, but high chances are that there’s no genie inside to grant your wish. You may find a glass slipper, but there’s no fairy godmother that will take you away from your chores, or your evil stepmother. This is the real world, meaning that not everything is what it seems, and fairy tale movies are simply a facade to cover up the struggles within reality.  

Let’s flashback to the beginning of high school. High school is portrayed as this new chance to be yourself. It’s supposed to be somewhere where people are beginning to get out of their middle school habits and preparing for their life after school, such as the armed forces, college, and so on. Maybe that’s how it was in other high schools, but most certainly not in mine. Fist fights broke out almost every week at my high school, but there were more fist fights than verbal fights. When verbal fights did break out, it was mostly through the internet. More than anything, there was the beginning of Formspring.me, a website where you can post anonymously about or toward people. It sort of reminds me of Gossip Girl with the anonymity and the bullying.