Addiction binds us fast in heavy chains,
A shadowed weight that lingers in our veins.
They call it substance trapped within our use,
Yet sorrow strikes, a deeper, darker bruise.
Sadness unfolds in fog’s relentless gray,
Its smudging hands erase the light of day.
Cold iron wraps the heart in steady grip,
As stories fracture, fragment, and then slip.
The shadows feast on what remains of light,
And nighttime robs the soul’s remaining fight.
Our cries dissolve like whispers in the breeze,
Where hope lies bound by sorrow’s cruel decrees.
Each breath grows thin, despair now lines the air,
A shroud of anguish drapes the world laid bare.
The spiral pulls us deeper with its trace,
It carves its scars on every grieving face.
The tides of hopelessness begin their rise,
To drown the stars that once adorned the skies.
Each thought becomes a plea for what once was,
A cycle spins and ends without a cause.
Despair’s soft hands grow tighter as they clasp,
A shifting sand that’s slipping from our grasp.
Inside this pit, the shadows find their mark,
They craft betrayal hidden in the dark.
We flee the taste of fear’s relentless sting,
Yet whispers draw us back with what they bring.
Eyes hollow out beneath their whispered breath,
And face the hollow promise born of death.
The mist of validation fades from sight,
Perfection dances far beyond the night.
Tonight our tears run heavy down the well,
Where silence grows and deeper shadows dwell.
The future spreads before an endless void,
A dream undone, a shattered hope destroyed.
Each breath we draw feels like the final strain,
A fleeting gasp of life that ends in pain.
We drink the brew that sorrow serves each day,
And hunger for the dark to light our way.
The mirror shows a soul in fractured glass,
A thousand wounds that time cannot surpass.
At last, the void becomes our quiet nest,
Its darkness soothes us into hollow rest.
We dance in shadows, numbing fleeting time,
In sorrow’s arms, we find this endless rhyme.
And when the dark consumes us, soul and all,
The final breath becomes the last to fall.
A whisper rises, soft: “You’re meant for me,”
As loss transforms into eternity.
This poem delves into the cyclical nature of despair and the consuming weight of addiction—not merely to substances but to the patterns of thought and emotion that shackle us. It is a reflection on the shadowy spaces within ourselves, where we wrestle with darkness that can feel both suffocating and strangely comforting. The poem invites the reader to consider: at what point does the fight against despair transform into surrender, and is there freedom in that surrender?
Plagiarism Notice: This poem is an original work by TheJhonDeLion. It has been submitted for plagiarism checks to ensure authenticity. Any resemblance to other works is purely coincidental. If you find any similar content elsewhere, please notify me immediately.
