Dear Robitussin:

I have consumed you more than solid food in the last four days. Yet I am endlessly coughing. I keep drinking you. I think you are opening my third eye.



I keep waking up in cold sweats, having hallucinated that I was wandering endlessly in a sunless forest. My clothing was replaced by a wolf's bane, I was surrounded by savage women, baring carnivorous teeth and bloody bosoms.

I was being dragged to a ceremony. It was a Ceremony of the most Bloody kind, being offered to the Great God Pan. Flutes and fires and fables. Oh my.


Blood Ceremony

(Based on actual robitussin hallucinations: take heed, stick to weed, and happy 4:20 ya'll)