The Proud Addict
Compensating for a lack of substance
Denying reality by substituting another.
Cannot make sense
so become senseless.
Celebrate self-inflicted demise
and call it a party.
Drinking from the punchbowl of death
in a slow, cultish, mass-suicide.
Solace in knowing the outcome:
death by own hands.
Muse, muse, muse again and confuse.
Flames of desire tower high and only a mist to quench.
Is the occasional whetting of the tongue worth
the burn ever-present?
It’s about control.
Only a moment here and there for her;
A brain –racing, -folding, -twisting, -turning, mind-fuck
that defines and stops time
Oh damn you, goddamn you…
What can I do for you next?
Please leave me alone
so the dejection can take holdto restore the blandness of normalcy.