The Needle.

The needle.
The needle only hurts you when it’s piercing through the skin.
The crimson river flows, anticipated pain.
It spills upon the carpet there it makes a nasty stain.
What a waste of ichor, what a waste of Tufted Wilton.
It really is a shame.
All the things imagined; you will strive for.
All the things you let your lover’s steal.
Quench your thirst on celebrated violence.
All those things forgotten in favour of the deal.
 
You have danced along its stainless shaft daring not to meet the passing of the day.
Absolves you of the longing, frees you from the blame.
Everything you’ve longed for, dreams that blew away.

Taunting it to hurt you until you cannot bear it.
Your wounds displayed like sorrow deep inside you wear it.
What a waste of youth, what a waste of life.
Got to let the blood flow, time to let it vent.
Only then the craving went.
You free the blood and watch it spurt, hoping it will spill upon your skin and burn you.
Love and life discarded, hopeless, spent.
Compared to the pain you feel inside, disappointingly dull, and insignificant.
Acid in your gut, toxins in your blood.
Opium, Crack, Amphet, Smack. Acid, marijuana, pills cocaine.
Anything less potent, maybe less corrosive?
Tame.
Abandoning your children, sell the family jewels, anything to keep you in the zone.
No need to put down roots no need to love someone.
Don’t need an occupation. No need to have a home.

Shackled by your past life, imprisoned by the truth.
Longing to be gathered in the night.
 Random love of strangers, momentary lust, clutching total strangers under crimson light. 
Tell the world your story, the injustice, and the fight!
You are the headline act, the lady of the night.
Chemic in your bloodstream, poison in your heart 
Going home alone, hiding in the dark.
And will you take the needle till the ending of your days?
The needle it can heal you in many ways.