The voices never stop. It’s a nightmare in my head.
Black veins pumping through me as I drift to sleep in bed.
A quiet void is why I put the needle in my arm.
I long for silent moments no matter the bodily harm.
So, I sell my soul to the devil and shoot up the sticky rock.
Then I float atop the mattress and zone in on the ticking clock.
Hours later, the buzz slows down and it’s a battle just to move.
My weight feels sloshy and my brain does not approve.
I finally make the trek begging to score my next dose.
6 people in my head today and two creatures follow close.
I’m starving for some substance yet only purchase liquor and smokes.
My dr won’t prescribe me anything until he can properly diagnose.
Why can’t he understand that I have nothing else to give?
Every morning it’s a struggle to find a reason to live.
I’ve pushed away my family and have no friends, just guilt.
I find solace in the unstable fortress my conscious built.
To find my peace I’ll keep searching for the lethal drug.
Then drift into my final sleep as darkness greets me in a hug.