Daydream Addiction

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.

Looking at Us – my first real poem

I look at Us – Us as in a unit of measurement, unused to anything less than surface level attachments.

We who share a meaningless experience every year and call it bonding, as though bonds were only material.

As though DNA, and being raised, are debts to be re-payed, and anything less is nonsensical to communicate.

I need depth – as in more space with which to relate. I can’t create attachment within surface level space.

Understand this – I know why this lack of space exists. I’ve analyzed and think I’ve diagnosed our neurosis.

We’ve existed for years un-acknowledging each other’s existence. We’re well practiced in pretending we have no inner substance.

Unless of course we’re mad – that’s when we feel comfortable right? And free enough to express our discontent with life.

Sensitive as we are, we could easily arrange a fight. Perhaps we need the chance to strike each other with our spite,

But I’m not even angry, I just think that if we’re joined, we should make some space between us or there isn’t any point.