A ragged curtain
Where a door should be
A bare bulb lights
Its entrance free
A heavy dust
Fills the air
Modern music
Stands to stare.
The sofa sports
Three figures stoned
They stare ahead
In monotone
Faces grey
Bereft of weight
Accepting of
The falling fate.
Addiction lays
Its veil upon
Those who have
Now become
Mere statues
Without grace
The staring eyes
Accepting fate.