You’ve probably had that too, as much as I did, I guess… those days in which you would indulge in fantasies that no one never will even fathom about.
Those times where you did masturbate mentally to some other person you were attracted to sexually, but would never ever get to have a change to indeed accomplish such wild wishes with her, or him. But even so, you indulged in said self-satisfactory pleasures, just for the sake of it.
And other times, you dragged on, considering and pondering about possibilities, casualities of some day to come, a probably situation, a coincidence, some meeting, that guy or gal, or maybe a bigger paycheck, who knows, what could you buy? Where could you go? Indulge in those fantasies you did.
And so, more oftentimes, you did meet with your own desires, which had no possible means to be met into the real world, but so you did let them run free and beguilt of any hindrances into the vast piths and depths of your mind, onslaughting them with frigid nuisances of a daydream, or a nightdream for that matter.
But they never even did come closer to materializing. You just kept on indulging on them, on mere wishing and mental prognosis of a future outcome that would never become true. That girl you never said you liked her, but pondered if you both could have something. Your fears mocked you, right behind your back.
Sometimes they still do, and you still fall prey to them, and so you only ever come back to the only place in which you can guarantee and assure where you’ll have ever full control of it, and nothing will go out of the script unpredictably: your own mind.
You follow the pornography. You follow the advertising campaigns. You follow the detractors of reels and whatnot more that is shoved into your face. You follow it all. And it follows you back… No, I beg myself for a correction now: it haunts you.
It beguilts you of the very said pleasure you had once inflicted upon thyself, unable to come back dragging to it, unwishing and unforgiving in the claustrophobic enclosure of being ultimately unable to fulfill said desires, in the real world.
So fantasy is all you’ve got.
Like Cypher, à la Matrix. All you can do is think about your own goddamned steak.
Even though it is just an illusion, it does taste delicious, doesn’t it?
Gradually, how nefrariously uncerimoniously your own mind can craft such guilts for you to fall prey to. Wonderful, isn’t it, my dear?
You, so very much the pinnacle of evolution and intelligent existence in this very planet, falling prey to your own very mind and desires, and letting them devour you from inside out.
Applause.
You are not alone.
We are all guilt of that.
One form or the other.
But hilst thee, think, then, of such unforgiven acts that enact thyself into the miserable condition in which you find yourself in.
Feeding thee with mere specks of imagination, nonetheless impossible to fulfill, and evermore begrudging your own ills while trying to satisfy them.
Be careful, my friends, for the very presence of you wishes may come to bite you bach, and maybe bleach and stain a portion of your desires with an ever unfulfilling capacity that will never ever reach full bottom.
Paece.