that first jolt of pain awakens to the morning
feeling tugging as if the bladed point of a hook
is buried chest deep and being drawn
out through your back before once again
waking familiarity finds the morphine bottle
and the long drawn out pause
that hopeful wait for it to kick in to clock out
of conscious reality into a haze of opiate dull blur
stealing reality in exchange for another non rewarding
armchair slept away-day of nothingness
no warning there would be weeks of this
with so much hassle to get another bottle
of barely adequate numb dumb stupifying
pseudo peace