bad english poetry: strawberry fields forever.

the strawberry fields keep getting wider as i enter them. i try to look out and check the ripe ones, but it’s way too dark for me to see anything: i can only find the great strawberries by feeling and tasting them. i touch the leaves, the roots, in search for the tiny fruits. as i feel them, i put them into my mouth, and bite it. sour, bitter, unpleasant. at the moment i finally taste the sweet ones, my heart melts in joy. i keep my journey. as i gain experience, it gets easier to find out the most pleasant, delicious ones; even though, at some point, i still always fall in disappointment and roughly swallow the torturing taste of the bad fruits. i’ll just keep walking into the fields as the night goes by, diving deep into my psychedelic journey.