Addicted to, all the highs from strife
The brief euphoria from endorphins of life
Reality, for him, is down below
A dumb, indecent, depressing freak-show
Of which he labels himself as not a part of
Although born thereof, forgetting his roots
He assaults his womb, leaves it in tears
With words, of folly and sometimes of truth
Without a speck of sympathy
Compassion, mercy, or even pity
The reality, of which he is no longer a part of
Is “disgusting, doomed, and a ramshackle”
and undeserving to host his dignified self,
he stays aloof, fearing he’ll get tainted
or jaded, infected, afflicted or contaminated,
by his reality, of which he has escaped
And to smother the ounce of guilt that prevails
Or pops out of nowhere, in his dreams perhaps
He forms a guild of people akin
And together, they fight this obscene thing
By hosting dinners and potluck parties
By denouncing their origins, in a competition-like setting
By reliving the struggle and how they overcame it
By laughing like lunatics in a drunken fit
But at some point, when the endorphins exhaust
His dominance in the pecking order is lost
While he quickly plunges into the chasm of his fears
it is only then when his loyalty reappears
He clutches to it for dear life
believing that his state of elation had never been
and that he had been tricked of his naiveté
that his senses may have been led astray
by the vulgar seduction prompted by human hunger
and finally, the need for endorphins are no longer
He wakes up to reality again, and reality takes him by warm embrace
Humbled by its grace, he pledges allegiance
His ramshackle pacifies his vehemence
But with one eye, still, always observant
For at this moment, he stays dormant, keen to grasp even an iota-
A smidgen of opportunity sees him spring right up into the clouds he fell from
Alas, that’s what we all foolishly do
Burn the bridges that help us pass through
Forgetting that
The way back is something that life often delivers
But we can’t swim our way through mighty rivers