Posted in The Vault

My Drug (Deeply Regrettable, Unsaintly Gospel)

Take a hit while we work on escaping and exposing any traps,
Avoiding a reality and outlook that’s gone from white to black,
Why these demons feel free to wage war and attack.
Being accused of overeating and it’s just a snack,
Pushed to a point emotions finally snap. (5)
Killing off the stress while it takes its nap.
An afterthought for each and every knife in the back,
Every time things went down without any sense of shock,
When in reality, some needed that extra bit of shock;
A lack of wonder over when this horror show stops. (10)
Victim to what others deem as just a mental block,
Left redefining what beautiful and what’s just hot.
Smoking away pain or is this lost ‘potential’ boiling away in a pot.
Confused from these years watching pots calling kettles black.
An endless conversation that’s gradually gone off topic, (15)
Prescribed pills with an ability to talk for themselves;
Described by physicians as a guide to walk the path
Nose filled with what seems more like broken down chalk
An antidote for madness, those driven to flip out like the hulk
Flipping over forgotten facts, repressed cause they hurt to much (20)
Thoughts, more like a dark stains on a pristine white shirts
Images able to form a perception, a perception less valuable than dirt.
A form of therapy, designed to never work,
Utilizing poor excuses to instill a false sense of personal worth,
A depreciation instead of appreciated for another day on earth; (25)
Fiends, marooned in misery, as if it’s been this way since birth,
And things only get easier, when all contempt in life is burnt away.
In constant anticipation for the next toke or turn,
An escape route to hide from all responsibility to reflect and learn,
Gospel of a failed saint; addicted to watching all regrets, burn away (30)


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