Nothing to do with Pink Floyd. 
We all have choices, just try telling that to one who's addicted.

It’s difficult to describe she thinks.

Here she is, surrounded,

familiar faces, family, friends.

Yet….

She should be miserable

crying, screaming.

But no, she’s happy

here in her own little world.

Later, when reality returns,

back in the real world life has to go on.

‘I can’t take this much longer,

I’ll see you later, I’m off to a new world.’

Too late.

She’s in a place she’s never seen.

All around is dead, dying, confused.

She stumbles forward, pulled, powerless to      resist.

     Now being dragged she gazes down at the fetid earth.

      ‘NO!’

      No one hears, not even the faces staring at her

from under the ground upon which she lays.

Laughing faces.  Crying.  Angry.

Concerned.

She closes her eyes but they’re prised open.

And she stares.

Stares at the familiar faces,

Her family, her friends.

Her life.

A shadow looms tall,

black as night.

She can’t take anymore

but has to.

With cold remorse she is thrown against the     wall, and slumps.

Motionless, helpless, almost drained of life.

‘God help me!’  she pleads.

She’s seen the sign, read the words.

YOU HAVE A CHOICE.

She sleeps.

A deep, troubled, thoughtful sleep.

And tomorrow?

In the real world?

©Lordspudz