Femme Fatale

I have a bad hobby. And its driving me nuts. When I do it, I think about impossible possibilities miles away beyond my reach. This is a sin and im not ashamed to look practically pathetic and plainly stupid. Im tired of writing sexual fantasies and sending them to the person most important to me. not because I wouldn’t like any in reality, but because the more I think about it, the more I desperately want to search for him. My bad hobby brought me to the end of my rope to leap into the shallowness of my mind. And without strings attached I jumped in and dove in deeper. Without thinking. Just feeling. Forcing myself further, with no assurance of my return. This bad hobby, as may be unsounded to others, brings me to satisfaction, intellectually, spiritually; and giving consent for my material body to be degraded. Stimulate me to the heights of the farthest corner of space and time. I know of no other refuge. I know of no other salvation. It’s a one sided mirror and a tango with one foot. Less than one. Less than half. I ask of no forgiveness for being too addicted. This is my obsession and my demise. Pages of thoughts left unsaid. I blend in into the white background. Not knowing, not being known. My entity once evolved me, now I create the silence of a thousand leaves. And I shape my mind to knowing, condition my body into feeling. My bad hobby I shall never take away.
Yes, I am a sinner. I am crazy…and you are my bad hobby.
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note: not necessarily referring to someone in particular… hmm… or am I ? maybe too much vodka.