New rochelle

A mental diet of half-naked women and lazily articulated vulgarity leads to a mind of achromatic stagnancy; mosquito bites of instant gratification suck the life out of me until the well of dopamine runs dry. I know better than to chug poison, so I just sip it now and again. I know better than to impulsively grab a rose bush, the sacred soul of a beautiful woman with sad eyes and an infectious laugh, so I admire their blossoms and thorns from a distance.

Anything can be a vice if you tighten it enough.

I wish to decrease my cravings for pain while ensuring my tolerance is high. The paradox makes me cringe in an almost mesmerizing manner… like watching somebody crack their own neck with a devilish smirk, I wish I could crack my brain. Just for a moment, perhaps it would provide a blink of momentary relief. It is quite difficult to stay present while a small town marching band parades through the crosstown traffic in my skull.

My moods bet against themselves. The racetrack runs from dusk till dawn. Sometimes I am the jockey, sometimes I am the thoroughbred, and sometimes I am merely a horseshoe in the dirt.

Still, the trophies of my future rest on the grandeur of a furious gallop toward the finish line.