A disease to one’s flesh.
To one’s mind.
To one’s thoughts.
To one’s body.
Infiltration in one’s trust,
making believes of what maybe is not.
A wrapped up infection.
Sets in like a storm.
Obtaining the infection by one’s fresh air,
manipulate one’s faith of what could be.
In the lack of answers,
when one’s being short of trustworthy reply
on what’s ought to be denied,
we maintain the obscure fear
by longing for what we cannot achieve.
A stroked becoming of one’s addiction.