Enemy in my Arm

It’s so hazy in my head.

I don’t even care about my daily bread.

With you in my arm I am ahead.

As long as I get my hit,

I don’t care if for a year I don’t eat.


It erases my problems in a second.

My mama hates me?

I don’t care.

My papa detests me?

So what?

The whole world thinks I am trash?

Screw the world. I am the king!


They call me an addict,

A man so dependent on the needle,

He is useless without it.

Maybe they are right.

Maybe I am useless.

But my needle dictates I am God.


So I walk with my head held high.

The world can’t stop reeling.

Confusion in my mind.

My friend, my enemy, my sanctuary.

Take me home dear needle.


Another morning, another day in abyss.

Time to pursue that next hit.

Do I rob for it?

Do I kill for it?

Oh, how I need that enemy in my arm.


I know how the world must view me.

Detestable, disgusting, human scum.

They spit in my face, for I am a lesser man.

In and out of rehab, I must be scum.

Just one more hit, and I won’t care.

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world


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