I am an addict.
I guess that’s the first step.
Every night is the same.
The inspired sight of morning,
Evanescing against the invitation
To glut on pixeled escape.
Immaterial hours withdrawn,
exhausting a blind account,
Yielding a shiftless, fallow legacy.
Will I die a bankrupt bystander,
A receptacle of advertisements?
No!
I rage against that technicolor light!
Collecting not finales watched
But investing in finales I write.
T. Weeks
(Inspired by “Thou Reader”)
Life Immense 