Len Gurts During MDMA-Assisted Therapy

I cannot be doing with all the smiles and veneers.
You are lying broken on the floor. The crowd isn’t here.

That presence is going to make you ill.
Instead, I shout, Kill kill kill.

Why pretend? Do you even notice?
What about a punch, not a sunset. Will you feel this?

I cannot control your reaction. I cannot dictate your confusion.
You should try exercise, poetry or a sex dungeon.

Sunshine and light—no.
No. I refuse to rhyme.
You will die with that facade. It is sick.

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