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Poetry
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| Addiction... | |
| By ParadiseLost | ||||
| 24 June 2008 | ||||
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This is about a man that has a heroin addiction, and him describing parts of his life. Homeless, alone, depending on the kindness of strangers. To the public, my addictive personally is a danger. Money and food is my biggest fear and worry. Watching people interact quickly because there in a hurry. Man’s hardest thing to do, is to control life’s temptation. Temptation leads the weak to compulsive addiction. Leaving them with nothing, not even the clothes on there back. When your body cries out for it, then your mind attacks. After the first time, you think nothing of it. Million times later you refuse to admit. Words of denial is the only thing my mouth can transmit. But I wish I just said it, that I’m an addict. The first few weeks are the most difficult. Adapting to the streets and everyone’s insults. It felt like I fell with Lucifer and his rebellious angels. Catching a glimpse of my mother, this makes me feel disgraceful. The image of her makes my head sink toward the ground. Then my addiction kicks in, and converts me into a bloodhound. I check my pockets, but scared to admit there empty. I light a cigarette and start to shake violently. Asking myself, how am I going to get money? But the only thing I can do is get it illegally. Years later, I know it’s impossible to control my addiction. Instead I try and make up for it by praying for redemption. But sadly this never works. Emotions and feelings go up like fireworks. I grab a knife and seek a victim. So I can pay for the sensational serum. On the news, it’s just another gang stabbing. But really it’s a druggie’s attack so he can buy some more heroin. Buying it is like clear skies after the storm. Afterwards it dull and windy, like it rapidly transformed. The needle tears another whole, in my decapitated arm. Fluid injected, to make my mental time bomb disarmed. I relax in the gutter that surrounds me. Knowing that the effect on my scarred body will be costly. A man stands over me, with a grim look on his face. I have lack of energy, so I know there won’t be a chase. I try to keep what’s left of it, close to my heart. There was no chance for me, so I couldn’t outsmart. He hits me in my face, breaking my nose. Grabbing my stash and making me feel every blow. I collapsed in slow motion, on to the hard floor. As he left me, the pain was too much to ignore. I was lying there, wondering why this has happen. Why do I feel less than human? I have no choice, but to take the devil’s medicine. So I can live and get repeatedly beaten. Because I have nothing to do, nothing to say. I wander the streets, like a ghost everyday.
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