Paradise Lost

The need to escape intensifies; this time it is different- a chemical journey inside or outside of my consciousness will not cut it anymore.
I dream in the most vibrant and intense hues of Technicolor, but
you say, "Not everything is black or white..." Keep your neutral
grays, which cannot begin to express my curiosity. I want no part of
your bland discoveries--
a slight thrill is the last thing I am looking for
(I know it's not enough). I want to feel my pounding pulse
behind my eyes, I want the world to challenge every truth
I've ever known to be true. I want to experience for myself,
by myself. I do not want to be tested on past
experiences contained in cruel, dust-heavy
tomes burying the facts inside their thick-skinned covers.

If the world is diabolical, I want to to arrive at that conclusion alone.
If the world is good, I want to discover unexpected kindness and grace in the darkest alleyways.
We have but one life, and the promise of a padded afterlife is not good enough.
Paradise. What makes you so sure that I want any part of your Paradise?
I am one of your lost children and you have the nerve to ask why I detached myself.
Your flagrant authority, your blind conviction drove me
to doubt every truth you had ever fountained.