His brain was sick – his body on the floor;
Contents thereof around, bile by his side;
A dose, a kick, a score as pain endured;
Infected with slow viral suicide.
A hot grim spoon of stuff worked its way in;
As painful life and love worked their way out;
Another death paused waiting to begin;
To moisten eyes who’d suffered deathly drought.
Involuntary suffering -life’s loss;
He’d tried and failed – and failed and tried – to quit;
He’d begged himself to fix, but cures he’d tossed;
And though time’s paused, in real: Tempus fugit.
His life of death was drawn on needled skin;
When drugs took life, t’was cruel narcotic’s win.