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he's a creature of habit, creature of hope

a creature who sometimes can't cope

with things, or himself, and turn to things best left

alone, behind, far from mind, and these things are deft

at finding his weaknesses, finding the chinks in the strongest

parts of his armor, even though he's quit them for the longest

time, they still pull at him, they seek out his heart

and plunge their hooks into sensitive parts

and dig out what he thought he left buried

and he remembers the times when he carried

burdens so heavy he thought he would die

and all he wanted to do was sit there and lie

in the quiet dazed pleasure of bliss

whatever addiction brought it on, he feels the kiss

of said pleasure, and never wants to leave

but the pleasure is a distraction, there to deceive

for that's the easy way out, and quicker as well

but even though he doesn't want to smell

the rot behind the self-indulgent habits

for he tries to hide like a scared little rabbit

he must move up, move past, move through, and on

with his life, with himself, for the better, or worse

for having known that bliss seems like a curse

when it's forbidden to him, by his own admission

for all he wants is to feel it christen

his mind with bliss for one last time

but that's where he must draw the line

end the cycle, begin anew

bid the habits adieu