Shellshock On A Friday Night Poem by Lowe Loup

I awake to a world tinted green,
grass and men polymerize,
their forms moving under strobed light-
I can't tell friend from foe.
Hands shackle me to the grass.
Mouths contort on muddled faces
above me. Their words sounding
fire alarms in my ears.

Seconds ago, I stood
on the line, muscles tensed,
adrenaline filled vision,
a singular focus.
I had touched my prize
for an instant-
Then a flash of plastic,
and complete blankness.

Now my world is acid tripped.
Edges of images fluctuate
and the earth loses stability
as they stumble me from the fray.
My stomach becomes charitable,
deciding to give instead of take,
and I lie prostrate and bound
to pillows in front of the mob.

I know the routine,
the red flashing lights,
the motivation for revenge.
I hope my sacrifice
was worth the show.