throughout the entire plethora of illicit drugs waiting to be addressed, the most poetic would have to be LSD

as your humble writer I cannot confirm or deny any personal experiences  

but writing is a wonderful art, isn’t it 

the story of acid begins this way 

you look at the world through a distorted magnifying glass 

some problems become huge, some become immensely small 

you’re taking a gamble every time on which ordinary thought will become your whole universe for 8 grueling hours 

hyperfocus gradually fades to omnipotence, if you are lucky 

you might have a sensation of understanding everything 

or understanding nothing 

probably a bit of both 

it’s beautiful and terrifying 

and your first sober thought will be “that was weird” 

and you’ll go on your way 

you’ll wonder how the hippies could possibly live weeks at a time under the influence of such an exhausting substance 

and grow a new appreciation for their resilience 

and then in a couple days you’ll start to wonder what you missed 

and enter the realm again 

with a false impression that you know exactly what to expect 

it is at this point in everyone’s acid story where the first bad trip occurs 

you develop a misguided sense of confidence 

and things can turn quickly 

the drug is like a shady new lover, shifty and mysterious 

never assume you know them completely and let your guard down 

those who survive the disenchantment of a horrible trip will return stronger, more curious 

they will use it to better themselves and the world around them 

dependence begins here as each experience offers a glorious escape from reality 

they feel like a story, all deeply connected to the previous 

invest yourself too far in the other realm and you may never escape

craving something new and fresh that only takes you farther from sanity every time

and you end up like the writer 

having realized that the knowledge and the poetry and the excitement have a limit 

it takes you away from those you love, far far away 

like a sad, distant song the person you were before this journey can hardly be remembered 

but with time you adapt to a life without those poisonous stamps 

and remember it fondly 

too fondly at times 

but the story is over now

and you are thankful the hardest years of your life were absorbed into a hardly memorable psychedelic tornado 

you are ready to be human once more 

and move on