Why do all the greatest ideas arise after illegal consumption. Why does fate always suggest such a temptation. 

 

It’s exhausting the provided short lived excitement. Aiming to throw our reality of its alignment. 

 

Time starts to have no logical meaning. it starts to no longer seem to exist. The struggle is a twisted game you fail to resist.

 

It’s unnatural what my body is now producing, the speed of each thought. It’s a jungle that comes when my greed gets caught. 

 

Unidealistic behaviour is ruining my remaining years. I’m pushing my chances, heading for those inevitable tears. I can’t control my warped direction, my ability is weak in terms of reflection.

 

Even in this moment this idea to write is hard to express. The compiled energy continues to press. 

 

I’m now beginning to obsess with the why, the reasoning behind my need to get high. 

 

Addiction exists and it claws your belief. It over rides all you exist.