Addiction is the only way to describe the desire I have inside. A complete wanting with mind body and soul. I have no intentions nor the ability to let go. Cuz absence disrupts life, disrupts existence, which makes resistence an unthinkable act. Cuz being on edge and foul to any and all is not a civilized way to act. But to conspire against this desire is not a task to be taken lightly. For some it is quick, others take time, and some couldn’t be helped by the almighty. The pull is to strong, the timings all wrong, or I just couldn’t get along without it. Excuses I made day after day, where my mental way of getting around it. To not feed my addiction, would leave my life in a hole. And to think all of this from a substance that I supposedly control. Oh, what a wicked web we weave when we decide to deceive our selves and are damned to our personal hells. Psychologically captive and inactive without the assistance of substance, yet the same is true when one lives in abundance. And it’s amazing how such a substance can put a smile on a face so quick. Yet to much, or not enough, always makes me sick. To defeat my inner-demons is to fight within myself, to risk my mental health, to be untrue to self. Which is why I may live this way. Plus I feel I’m beyond help any way. I’ve grown accustomed to catering to my temptations, to using my intoxication as inspiration for my deliberations. Justifying my reality distractions with insufficient actions. Only to open this one sided oral onset, no onslaught. Which originally originated from the ordinary orthodox opinion that cruelly criticizes human nature. I’m a being of desires, My wants are also my needs. There is nothing wrong with what makes me feel good, with that which lights my fire. My wants are just cravings, I’m not diseased, I don’t need help, I know my limitations, I’ll take care of myself. My usage rarely accedes my need. I have a leash on my addiction, well their more like reins. And though my insides moan and complain. I still call the shots in this game. I can’t afford to loose my grip on reality, but the reality is that the tragedy is that I’m at ease with whats happening. I should be outraged that I’ve reached this stage of addiction. I’ve become a contradiction of terms, hypocritical, or perhaps too critical, cuz I mean well, cuz even though I fell. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone else. If I could go back to the day, I wonder if I’d still play, or say no, and leave it there on the shelf. Cuz I’ve always liked to use alone, though I prefer it with somebody else. It puts me at ease to know that someone else sees my point of view and knows how I’m feeling. Cuz to be dry and fiending is the meanest of feelings. A self-loathing and longing to be free of my skin and peel it off like wet clothing. Cuz I NEED SOME ROOM TO BREATH. And it’s quite confining. And I’m finding that my mind only matters in the matters of my mind, but that doesn’t matter, cuz I don’t mind. I always seem to find a reason to continue my self-treason, and as the seasons change, I remain the same. And addiction is, the only way to describe the desire I have inside.