My blood was black

Ink outweighing oxygen in my veins

Each eye laced with blood

Tripping over every step

Clawing at the walls

Pencil lead visible on my fingers and palms

Desperate was my prepubescent mind

Searching for another hit of poetry

Only in English class would my withdrawals weaken

Only after the aroma sunk into my pores

Affecting my being like nothing has before

Relaxing and reviving all at once

The others grew dizzy from the fumes

Covering their faces, shielding their sanity

But I fell victim to the high

Pleading with my teacher after hours

Grace me with another stash of stanzas

Provide me with ingredients needed

Teach me to make my own

Some extended concern and worry

Ten years old was far too young

Poetry too complex and unstable

For a mind such as mine

Though they may argue

No longer need I sneak about

Now I hold the power to create

Publicly will I inject each eloquence

With you I will share my drug