Chemical bondage, the blocking of bonding,
It motivates poor Dopamina to subjugate,
Using achievement and unconditional agreement to force bereavement.
Shiny things create discarded beings,
And as lust trumps trust lives go bust,
While broken minds are mended with shiny new finds.
Dopamina avoids the self, putting her essence on a shelf,
These are problems to be solved another day, but for now there are games to play,
Plans to make and cancel, to remake again, so many beginnings without end.
The thrill of the chase, the self to displace,
But who would guess that this game of chess,
Would end with all of the pawns becoming queens?
Fear and self-loathing, soothed with sheep's clothing,
A slip of the demure mask prompts the foolish frog to pry open the cask:
An ethanol bath to stave off Dopamina's cruel wrath.
Dopamina the bonded sees bonds as bondage,
Vasopressin as repression,
And plays the discard card on the once jolly bard.
Do not hate poor Dopamina, for she cannot help herself,
The scorpion must sting the frog, as it is in Dopamina's denatured nature,
And the fool, ever the tool, will either drown or join a school.
Venom surges through the veins of the fool as their heart pains,
Having been stung by an unapologetic scorpion lacking things sympathetic,
But Dopamina will one day realize the drug she takes feeds the mistakes she makes.
As the fool grows wiser, she loses each incisor,
And the heart of the survivor beats stronger against the will of Dopamina the prolonger,
The Vaso-suppresant having failed in its mission to break the frog's condition.
The foolish frog arises from the murky depths undaunted by the mission Dopamina flaunted,
But the frog had forgotten the will of their begotten,
And it croaks in dismay having now realized what Dopamina did this day.
Dopamina's venom wasn't intended to send the frog to the casket, it was instead prone to clone,
Duplicating the forces that birthed her condition, as the frog catches onto the premonition,
And wonders if it will sprout a stinger or look to put a ring on another finger.
Or perhaps the frog is merely a cog,
In a grander scheme lacking in theme,
Who cannot help but be drawn to the plight of Dopamina and her blight.
The frog recalls a day when he wasn't so grey,
He wasn't even a frog, he was a singer with a stinger,
Until the emptiness inside was too much to bare and the frog began to care.
The frog glances back back at the river and sees the scorpion at the bottom start to quiver,
Does it hop away and seek a better day, or does it return to the burn of the spurn?
The frog cannot leave this day, it is a creature of fate, and loyalty means that the frog cannot hate.
Having glanced away for just a minute the frog misses,
The other frog that the scorpion now kisses,
And Dopamina sets out once again to cross the un-crossable,
With another frog who can't see the journey is impossible.
For the river cannot be traversed until the cloak becomes croak,
And Dopamina's stinger fails to linger.
image created with help from LeonardoAI, poem by me
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dopamine
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vasopressin
☑️