The days run together,

Like a water color painting.

Hoping for a day with bad-weather,

The sun seems like its staining,

Its brightness is damaging his eye.

The calming of the moon frees him,

Night is the time he wants to buy,

The effect of the drugs dimming him

In knowing the next nights come,

It brings him comfort and pain.

The decision to enter the slum,

Was what got the addict slain.