Drug

I didn't write this poem

A certain familiarity of pain did

This is not some art, this poem

It's all the shadows that my brain hid

 

 

Why do you read, this poem

Does it tell you who I am and will be?

There's pain right here, this poem

I look for a cure, you call it melancholy 

 

 

It's still better to write, this peom

You'll say it's better than getting drunk

There's dark ecstasy here, this poem

I'm no different from a junkie in a bunk.

 

 

-I want to stop writing today,

just can't 

 

Al