And in bitter irony (or redundancy), written while smoking a cigarette....
Nicotine, THC.
Escape to false reality.
Soothe my thoughts, ease my mind.
Steal the truth, make me blind.
Troubles leave in a cloud of smoke.
Pretty soon the world is broke.
Escape to a world that is mine.
A world that reality confines
Relaxation at its peak.
Yet do these things make me weak?
Can I not handle the real world?
Will I snap if from these things I uncurled?
Left in a world full of confusion and pain.
From these things what would I abtain?
Lost forever in fantasy.
Afraid to face reality.
For the future what is left?
Stuck forever in a cleft.
By these ash chains will I be forever bound?
Forever lost, not wanting to be found
Chains of Smoke and Ash
Chains of Smoke and Ash
---Wolf---
"And a godlike man--a man who is pure force--inaccessible to any compromise--is called a hero."
"And a godlike man--a man who is pure force--inaccessible to any compromise--is called a hero."
Thank you, and for the record, some time has passed since that poem, and though I can't say much for the nicotine part (working on it, a pack'll last me 3 days now instead of two), and the THC part has went down alot, that may come into play only every 2-3 months.
---Wolf---
"And a godlike man--a man who is pure force--inaccessible to any compromise--is called a hero."
"And a godlike man--a man who is pure force--inaccessible to any compromise--is called a hero."
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