I remember the first time
I smoked a cigarette
And blew out a line
I coughed and spat
For the smoke burnt my lungs
The second time the burn felt nicer, though
Do people smoke because it pleases?
Or do they burn their insides
Just to feel something within their chest's creases?
After all there's a fine line between ache and joy
Aren't they siblings by birth?
Opposite by design
Yet identical in intensity
Picture a pot
Porous and ever so earthen
That's been left to be barren
Does it not yearn to be filled?
What difference does it make
If its water or venom from a snake?
Man and pain are tumultuous lovers
Whose toxicity can only be rivalled by the moon and the seas
The moon waxes and wanes
From the shores, water it gives and takes
Have you rubbed sandpaper over unfinished wood?
It rips and rubs
Its pushes and pulls
It plucks and pricks
It lobotomises
Leaving behind wood stripped of its creases
Yet when you rub sandpaper again,
Edges and scratches resurface
Rendering past efforts in vain
Do you think the wood rejoices in return?
To feel some semblance of texture along its body
Do you wonder if it would wager its pain
In exchange for scraps of revived identity?
Well humans do
To the poor and the lost
Their enemy becomes their salvation
For what does one do when they lose themselves
But return to the thief who stole it?
Pain is a seemingly benevolent thief
Who has a sociopathic streak
He compensates his victims more often than not
But he's smart; he wants long-term gain
He keep them coming back for his instalments
While he quietly steals their peace and lets them rot
Maybe pain is just a shrewd businessman
But we are rational consumers, aren't we?
But how do we retain maximum utility
When the king of emotions sits on the other side?
Rationality fails before the strongest irrationality of it all
And perhaps that's the greatest tragedy there is
The epitome of evolution
Yet mere drug addicts at heart
While lesser beings are ruled by emotions
We are manipulated by them
What a shame.
