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Poetry
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| Addiction (rewritten) | |
| By ParadiseLost | ||
| 28 June 2008 | ||
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Homeless alone, with no means off escape. I’m one of many, this makes me hate. Hate turns me into a blood thirsty beast. Now my alter ego has been released. There is still some self control inside me. I start to crawl at my body fiercely. Saying the word no! over and over. I knew from then, that my life was grimmer. No history of any addictions. Never having to run from the sirens. Just a normal guy you pass in the street. A gentle soul that would never mistreat. The type of guy that you would look up to. But saying my name now is like taboo. Like cursed words from a foul and rotten mouth. But when you say it there is a drought. A name that destroys things in its way. Simple words that I am too scared say. Because it gives me an identity. I used to be called, John, John Hackney. I have forgotten who I used to be.T he kind gentle soul is no longer me. I’m some what of a terrifying animal. Worst than the men that are called cannibals. I longer have any self control. Lying in my own filth in this hellhole. Knowing this is where I’m going to die. No body fluids, so I cannot cry. Accepting what I am is the hardest part. I am a vile bastard that has no heart. But this is not what I’m talking about. It’s about the money that I have to payout. The problem is that I have no money. Then I begin to start acting violently. Wanting my pockets not to be empty. No choice but to get it illegally. When I think that my gentle soul is gone. It is still in my heart where it belongs. I then try my best to try and kill it. So my body is rid of all misfits. Doing this makes me feel hallow inside. All my emotions have finally died. But now only one emotion remains. Anger is another cure for the pain. Another is a drug called heroin. To have it I would give an organ. Delaying it makes my body cry out. After a while I can hear it shout. No choice but to accept my temptation. I know that there will be no redemption. Because only the weak have addictions. My health worsens after the injection. I relax in the gutter around me. Later it turns back to being gloomy. Questioning, was it all really worth it? But I have no responses to submit. The skies about me are now a dark grey. Counting the minutes to my doomsday. Because that is all I have left now. Preparing myself to take my last bow. If I meet God, I will have questions. Like why he invented addictions. I know what he would say to me back. That I shouldn’t have let the drug hijack. I am sitting here, just rotting away. No strength left to get up and walk away. I have nothing to do, nothing to say. Sitting here, haunting the streets everyday.
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