Everything Under the Moon

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

You're thinking about things I'd wished I'd decided to think about
long ago. Power to you.

cheers,

T. Guy.

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.