Places Where Nothing Matters

The desire to escape drives me towards the places where people do not gather.

In the remote and desolate deserts where the sun is still a master,

To the damp and foggy forests where the soil traps in moisture.

My sub-conscious needs pulling towards where people do not matter.

 

Every place with roads and rules implies a tacit social consent.

Mobility, morality, and my mask are part of that.

Society is life always in a partial state of restraint.

That’s why they taught the meek that they should be content.

 

For those who do not thrive, they say adaptation is the key.

Learn to see yourself as something you should be.

Intelligence and deviations combine into misery,

But you can’t escape yourself, so you’ll end up in therapy.

 

Or, you might escape somewhere in so far as you can imagine.

If remote and desolate landscapes please your palette,

Making you wish there were more spaces like it,

Even if objective reality will never make it happen.

 

Day dream illusions, substitutions, the unfulfilled hollow.

Placate and sedate if you need the escape.

The best places are where nothing even matters.

Swallow the pills and forget about your fate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.