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Day turns to night.
Night turns to day.
The paradox where time stop and life ends seems so distant.
Moments of clarity come and go.
Bringing me closer to make a choice then turning out the lights.

The sent of death creeps from room to room.
Showing me visions of Destruction and Corruption.
Death and Chaos.
Bring me to the break of insanity.
Teater me on the edge between dreams and Ingeniality.
Ideas of fortune and perseption are contenplanted in these deep sittings.
Severed Communication.
The urban stranded.
Stuck in an island of the mind.
Growing thinner and thinner with each passing day.

Heroin seems to supply my friendship needs.
He always bring two friends.
Mister Needle and Miss Cord.
Danceing on the viens of entry.
To the ballroom of injection.

Suffering from Cronic Drug ab"use" issues
Daylight flash Backs (Blacks)
High octane Masterbation to fuzzy static.
Nosebleeds resulted after intense Migraines.
Deminshed spirit.
So i take shelter in the darkness
To afraid to leave this space i have nested into.
Because They are after me.

To tired to contibute to social society.
IRS?
In cum?
I would rather induldge in the darkness of one world then to shift into a Darker world where control is beyond my control.
Where god comes with a suit and tie.
Where judgement comes in a nine milli-meter fully loaded hollow tip fast action berrta hand pistol.
Where Chaos is unsaved documents on a defective floppy three and a half inch diskette.

See leave me alone in my beautiful world of sin.
In my pattern to a spiraling demise.
For to give me birth into a world like this would be a menece to society.
So you have you coffee with one lump or two of sugar and half a tea spoon of half-half.
While i have my paint chips followed by a side if lowgrade rust colored water freshly driped from the pipes in the wall.
You live like a worker.
I will live like a king.
Because the luxury of a human can only be defined on the profit of the human body.
So if i shall have life and happiness without the adjustment of priorities.
Then i am truly the king of my own creations.
©2002-2009 ~waiting4chaos
:iconwaiting4chaos:

Author's Comments

Part 3 of 7 in the Sin Series.
*Vanity
*Lust
*Sloth
------------

Sloth
the avoidance of physical or spiritual work.

or

To avioded the honest days work as the hard man of the world sweat around you just so you can get your welfare check and buy all your fuckin drugs.

This poem is of the dark mind of a man loseing his mind. Insecure with his Sin Feeling the contraversy and debate within himself.. It takes place in his Downgrade low rent apartment near the docks after he shot up and is now in a deep state of mind

-Chris

Comments


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:iconsenorrandom:
man, this is.. so dark... you should make a pack... it's like... you've TOTALLY got it... with the sloth... really gorgeous work here... bravo

--
Love hurts... wear a cup

I am the Bruce Campbell of ~ iantart
:iconcyborgagent017:
whoa..........

--
Hello and stuff.
:iconanonblonde:
nice...very nice...

--
hey look! it's my site ~~> [link]
:iconsunrunner68:
Nice work! Can't wait for the next one....

--
I challenge thee ~ photo-challenge
:iconpisschrist:
Yes.
Use abuse
as a scapegoat.
:iconspunj13:
i like your use of the word abuse ... however, i'm not sure exactly where the sloth comes in this... it worked...but barely.. it got too distant from the subject... and i'm not sure how addiction relates to sloth anyways...

//spunj13

--
doctor!doctor!
wind up your soldiers and send them to see, the skies and the oceans their coffins will be
:iconpyrokat:
This is a little odd... but hey, I'm a lot odd. So I like it. lol.

--
Life.
( Some Assembly Required )

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December 7, 2002
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