An Addiction

My drug overwhelms me. It’s fantastic purity is the essence of what makes men go mad. No promises of grandeur, no guarantee of wish fulfillment; simple and primal self-satisfaction. In that moment of consumption, the consequences mean little. The fog of indulgence serves a worthy purpose of hiding future failures. The total and complete loss of restraint can take the blame for so many deeds. Without even trying, I have made myself an addict of my own indulgence. I close my eyes to any chance of recovery, even more, I would shun such an offer. Allow me this sin. Allow me this transgression. For sobering virtue could hardly match up to this kind of bliss.