Drug addiction is an illness.
Associated with a loss of wellness.
It creates a zombie, ghost, immune to emotion.
Immune to devotion.
It strips you of your mind, body, and soul.
It is not an easy path to stroll.
It starts off as curiosity.
Ending with a tragic monstrosity.
It does not matter whether you are smart or dumb,
It can creep up on you or anyone,
make you a numb bum, feeling like scum.
Like the dirt in societies eyes.
You feel it. It hurts and makes you want to cry.
But not at first.
It comes with a smile, as a friend.
You’ve done all of them before, but not this trend.
You shiver with nervousness, foggy eyes, can’t determine the end.
Your “friend” tells you how to do it.
You’re hesitant, but ready to take the hit,
bit by bit,
ready to readmit,
The chemicals seep into your veins.
Let it do its thing, let it reign.
You feel a heaviness over your brain.
Pure beauty, just like in the movies.
It’s a blur, waking up in a slur not remembering where you were.
You got the first time over with.
But soon it will be the second, third, fourth, fifth.
You get the jist?
You find it attractive, it appeals to you.
Something special, something new, something sexually true.
There’s a unique feeling about it.
You feel bad, but you must admit, it seems to fit.
You are part of a group now,
it’s closely knit.
You seem not to give a shit.
Your girlfriend is calling you,
turn off the phone,
The lighter is lit.
It seems to subliminally bother,
but your father had gone farther.
You’re spending all your money,
every single last dollar.
You fail to acknowledge the woman who has been in love with you for years.
She’s crying, waiting for you, home alone in tears.
But this doesn’t phase you.
You ask your mother for money since you lost your job because you were out getting high.
She asks you why?
“I need to stop by the store and buy more books about the cold war.”
It’s all lies, fed through a straw to avoid getting caught by the law.
Your selfish habit has destroyed your relationship with your old friends.
The ones that swore to be with you til the end.
Now where are they?
They have disassociated with you because you have gone astray somewhere along the way.
Every night they worry and they pray.
That hopefully you’ll find the light and get away.
Your mother found your needle today.
You come home high as hell,
to her crying and screaming for you to get well.
You feel your inhibition to get better soon fade just like your fathers.
But you need one more night to accept the offers,
to go get lost and go become a zombie.
You don’t need your mommy.
You’re all grown up now right?
Too good for your parents?
The ones who tell you wrong from right?
You’re a puppet now.
Go hang on your strings.
Especially the ones that go into your veins.
Got news today,
your friend is dead.
He was in a situation last night and got shot in the head.
You feel the dread.
Why not go and get high about it?
To “celebrate” your dead “friend” who got shot in the head?
Feel the needle, cold, full of death.
Close your eyes.
Tell your routine lies.
Hear your loved one’s cries in the back of your mind.
You’re the zombie now.
Gone too thin, makes people raise the brow.
60 pounds lighter,
YOU’RE NOT A FIGHTER.
Tell all your zombie buddies how this will be the last time.
Plan on getting sober, gonna be a lot bolder.
You like to tell yourself these things.
Make you feel better,
make you feel more than stellar.
Like the money inside of a letter,
from your grandmother
hoping you’re enjoying the weather.
First thing comes to thought when fresh bucks are in your hand:
How much can I buy with this?
You can’t seem to find your “friend”.
Maybe he’s dead?
Or locked up in the pen?
You feel sick,
chill rushing down your spine.
“Fuck I’m running out of time.”
You get a call.
It’s from a guy named Paul.
He says he’s got your potion.
To keep the zombies still in motion.
You take the notion,
striving for your devotion to get out of what seems like the Antarctic Ocean.
Everyone has left you now.
Your mother is tired of feeding your addiction.
Your girlfriend left your ass because of her prediction of your own self-infliction.
You’re out of school.
Got caught shooting up by the preschool,
next to the swimming pool.
Today is your last day.
But humans don’t wake up in the morning assuming so.
They think they’ll just get up and go.
Not for you,
Like the great Black Sabbath once said,
“Now you know the scene,
your skin starts turning green.
Your eyes no longer seeing,
Push the needle in,
face death’s sickly grin.
Holes are in your skin,
caused by deadly pin.
Head starts spinning ‘round,
you fall down to the ground.
feel your body heave,
Death’s hand starts to weave.
It’s too late to turn,
you don’t want to learn.
Price of life you cry,
now you’re gonna die.”