My brain stained with nicotine, restraining my dopamine, sustaining my hunger for more stimulation.
My pastimes are clarified, and leaving me pacified, weak with desire to embrace simulation.
My daydream is perpetual, absurdly conceptual, and substantially real from my perception.
An Ego in in fantasy, cradled in infancy, constantly feeding my selfish pretension.
Useless but exciting, dangerous and inviting, a handy device as life substitution.
While leaving me pitiful, actions are critical, time doesn’t stop to embrace my illusions.