all the while pretending that I’m really living

I keep smoking my cigarette, strung by strings like a marionette. Moved by desires I don’t control, I keep just going with the flow.

In a reality I don’t truly believe, things that I should hold true I receive. All of the, I know, complete lies, More of sure of that as time goes by.

Despite all of that I must keep alive, the things that enable me to survive. But that to me is still to little, What I truly want is to be able to thrive. So with my vices I’ll still continue, despite killing me they keep me alive.

Dreams I don’t have, for that I would need to actually sleep. The closest thing is keep writing, vaguely deep things no one will read.