Whirlpool of a mind
Syringes, needles,
Line after line,
Brain becomes dust
Movements will rust
And all that's left is
Time
To live
A hole by the ear
The world appears so
colourful
Then, every time, just that bit bleaker
Each line grows steeper
Fear the reaper
Because he doesn't care
If it's your fault or
Just a stage
Because
To him
Age is age
And not necessarily determined
By months or weeks
Or stage
But when
Hands to weak to reach
for water
Familiar enough to light a spliff
Enough of this existence

Can't tell if you exist
When you can't see beyond the smoke
Broken