((This is a poem meant to be OOC - hence the brackets. However, it could
be read ICly also. I was forced to write this poem for a class, and I'd
appreciate any comments/constructive criticism/suggestions.

Inspired by T.S. Eliot's generally somber mood, his poem "Hysteria," and
personal experience. And I'm sure many of you have experienced something
like this, particularly in regards to a certain game or two... 😀

Addiction

It starts off slowly, the tune sweeter
Than the butter shining under your chin.
The mind perks with the novelty,
Intrigued, fascinated, limited but ever expanding.
Repetitive actions, coupled with a receptive mind,
Curious, you ask, "What is this?"
And absorb the unending stream of lines
Between one dark space and another.

The line between what is and what should be wavers,
Integrating to become the "beautiful" of your ideal.

The siren song song, fatal to the compliant mind,
Whispers release and agony. Stronger
Than gravity, than reality itself,
You are sucked into a vortex,
A black hole of happiness.
The infinitely slow beat of time and space
Warped by your dormant thoughts.

But there is nagging far, far away...
A reluctant stirring, as
The blanket slips from your mind.
You groan and chafe,
So far in blood, that
Returning is equally bad,
As going over.

So what does one do?
The clock ticks louder and louder
As you take one
Last, last puff to inhale the sickening ecstasy
Of your wasted labors.

Take a step to the side and
Turn your gaze to the
World that holds your future.
Push, against the swirling current;
Grasp, the crisp, biting air.
Only then can you
Salvage the remains.))



Penned by my hand on the 14th of Variach, in the year 294 MA.