honesty

slowly stagnating the smell is sour and sickening, i ask myself why i ventilate these fumes. no worry the effects are pleasant and palatable to my refined sense of self-satisfaction. yet this is not the vision of perfection by any definition, pock marked with track marks and tourniquet wear embellish the already sorry state of existence. i bow before no man but time is no man it is the phantom in the shadows that slowly takes away the smiles and dreams that could never be fulfilled. it is the executioner of a silent man in a silent daze from a sickening ritual and its sickening high.