Ma Shell is Michelle

This is a poem about a drug experience (The exact drug is hidden in the lines) in which the narrator falls in love with an everyday object

Ma shell is Michelle.
A gastropod of elegant beauty,
she sits a dust-trap on my shelf.
But where others see some somber spiral, I see a savior.
Drugged from a spiked drink and Lifted Straight Down to Hell,
I thought I'd lost my mind that manic Monday.
As the tide washed back, violently orange and violet...
As a full spectrum of color erupted from the sinking sun...
As voices pursued me in my maddened head....
Some mysterious, glowing gleam claimed the attention of my gaze.
Perhaps it was the voices screaming in my ears.
Perhaps it was some divine presence that told me to stand.
Perhaps it was nothing at all...
But slowly I rose from the rocks that formed my throne, and crawled into the washing waves.
Closer...closer to the shining light.
And there before me was the conical, gleaming shell.
I caressed her in my fingers, lifting her from the darkened, soggy sand.
Eagerly I pressed her to my ear,
awaiting the sound it's said you'll hear.
But there was no whisper of the salty breeze.
There was no roar of the persistent tide.
And at last...there were no voices in my head.
My skin stopped bubbling.
My face stopped melting.
The crazy colors infecting my sight faded.
Then a warm and gentle murmur echoed from the shell...
"Don't worry. I'm your best friend."
And so she is ma shell.
And ma shell is Michelle.