I am a happy poet doing what i like the most,writing for other people.
STIGMA. Am I the lowest of the low how deep into despair shall we go, I keep the works, the needles and the kit, shall I slow down and explain myself a bit, I am 17 years old and live alone, my money ,health and friends have all long gone, My God ,my need my heart is in the fix, I am a junkie this is my life my bag I once was human now ‘m just a lag . Am I the lowest of the low, How deep into despair shall we go, My soul and life contained within The spirit kind the vodka,scotch and gin, Does that stop you in your tracks ,or make you think, Life passed me by as glass in hand,”a drink” Its with a glass in hand that I’m set free Does that not make you think, as you see me. Am I the lowest of the low , How deep into dispair shall we go I do street drugs ,all the while ,my choice A bit of wizz ,a spliff,some EsI find my voice, I’m just a clown,not worth your time and thought, My whole esscence really comes to naught The drugs to fit into the peer group norm It’s the done thing,any old port in a storm, I’m not addicted I like to hear myself say Can you lend me a tenner ,by the way, Thanks for your ear ,your time, your company, I’ll just nip off now and by a couple of Es. Now of these verses I would have a choice , If I could choose to use my own lost voice , My vice is being ill,lost in my own head, On darkest days I can’t get out of bed, I would like to say I am one of the above, But God wants honesty and so ,lost on love, My pain is locked deep within my soul, No drink or drugs will ever make me whole, Not in your eyes,not in the way you see, No gentle words or sympathy and tea, For me its hospital and nurses armed with pills Forced into me ,an end to all your ills, The meds that kill the madness in your eyes, Are just the thing to stifle my own cries, And so drugged up released ,into your tender hands, To fit the peg ,society demands .
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