From lack of feeling, sick.
Quickening,
Sickening,
Death.
My high
won't dry
My tears
they lie
Beneath my lungs
The drugs
They paralyze
They tantalize,
My victims.
"This will be your better love."
I laugh
Bitterness veiled
from sight
My plight...
"Huh? What? Right."
Here's a freebie, just for you.
The cops patrol
Lie low.
I'll see you soon,
******