Something §trange about me is that I feel empathy for the §ubstances I use. I feel bad for drugs. They get a bad rep even though they’re either natural or man-made. Either way, drugs are just doing whatever they were made to do. The problem isn’t the Substance, rather the misuse of it by Man. And Man is just a cowardice existence, Man refuses to acknowledge it’s fault, instead, assigning to blame to the recipient of the abuse. The Logic of a wife-beater…
Going away from my general perspective on §ubstance, and to some specific examples of my §trange sympthaty for things that aren’t even aware of Whö I Am, really. One time when I was tripping, either on shrooms or LSD, I accidently spilled a bowl of weed. I want upset that I couldn’t smoke it anymore; I just felt bad that I wasted its purpose. In that moment, I saw myself, an object of someone’s desire, yet a tragedy born not out of malice, but carelessness, changed to course of this §ubstance…
The thought that actually spawned this post is about my most recent §ubstance I’ve picked up… well, picked up again, I guess. I’ve recently picked up tobacco pouches. The kind that you place in your cheeks like chipmunks and spit into a cup. I used to do it with my sister years ago, but this is the first time I’ve ever bought it for myself. But that’s just another aside. The thought that I had that spawned this post happened after I spat my pouches into the pool of saliva in my cup. Looking down at these floating pouches made me feel guilty in a way. Their experience with me is getting chewed up by me so I can get a buzz off of their essence, and the thanks they get is that when I Am done, I spit them out into the equivalent of their blood, only to get an unceremonious burial being flushed down a toilet…
I don’t know, maybe that’s what they expect. But even so, I’ve been chewed up & spit out enough to know it doesn’t feel good even when you think Ü deserve it.
Addictive Substances
♡Sugar☆World☮ 