And he throws away his petty cigarette in disdain and despise. The poisons he inhales, he drinks, taking him a step closer to the end. The vicious circle continues every day, giving him a sense of stability, of control and satisfaction. But in reality, he is a slave to the routine, to the short well-being sensation he gets from being consumed. His addictions, mirroring his mental plummeting towards the ground, contain the darkness within. The mask he exhibits is slowly fading away without them. The well tailored human suit is hanging on by a thread.
