His gravity gets him down,
From his cage he’s looking out –
Trapped in a habit in another town,
In the vicious circle of the ring it’s another bout.
He steals because they deal in notes,
Resting on their opium floats
In their deep hulled cocaine boats,
Over the addict the dealer gloats –
Watching them slip into overdose,
Being careful not to get too close.
A temporary hypodermic heaven,
Better than to live a life unleaven:
He’s rising like yeast
Through the chemical diversion
Into a recess where there’s a primal beast
Waiting to be fed
In his emptying head,
Then the condition begins to worsen.
They all start to deny
The fact that they rely
Upon their daily fix,
Blindness is up to its usual tricks.
Humanity and ethics are up for dissection,
Under the pressure of the lethal injection,
We can see PCP as a retina spot in the eye,The high is a lie and they come down to die.
Filed under: Poetry | Tagged: PCP Lethal Injection, poem, Poetry
