Crystal dreams of methamphetamines
consume my mind while the nicotine
blackens my lungs, easing the restless descent into sobriety.
I top off the tweaky high with speed,
not because I want to die but weed
just doesn't hide the holes in my tattered soul or liver anymore.
The high removes me from a life
so distraught with fatigue and strife
that losing myself in drugs is so much easier than living.
A dear few anchor me to this world,
as my dying body lies curled
on the bathroom floor, lost in vomit, blood and blissful euphoria.
The only hope for life that I see
is the absolute warmth filling me
when you smile, because you still love me even though I am pathetic.
I tell you that I'm doing well
although I'm not, so you can swell
with pride and joy because you fixed me, even though I know you cannot.
I'm scared you'll leave me in frustration,
at the hopelessness of my situation,
and find and love that doesn't desecrate your holy eyes with tears and grief.
Then alone I'll be forever more,
just another tweaked out, junky whore
who got lost searching for meaning in the drugs he ate,
because he found none in life until it was too late.
And the meaning I found, as I journeyed throughout time
and space is all I can say when your hand is in mine
without making a sound, because I don't need to.
