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My Wish For Drug Addicts
by Debra Rose (Age: 21)
copyright 09-09-2005


Age Rating: 18 to 127

 
You think I can't tell what you're doing?
Rocking back and forth
Talking like no one else matters
but you.
The pretty look and too skinny body
wide pupils,
hidden to all but who have been there.
I see straight through you.
Your speed addicted,
crazed impressions on life.
Your constant movement,
your incessant need to make things
better,
to build a tower
on the waters surface.
It's gonna fall.
I know this because I've been there.
And I'm watching, willing the wave to break
so I can bare witness to your demise.
I want to see you crash and burn
and I want to see you die.
I'd rather have a bigot
than a speed freak
standing before me.
At least bigotry is sober!
You think I can't smell the butane and
familiar sweet scent
of crank?
You think I don't know?
I'm watching you walk away,
counting down the strands of good will I have
till I finally get my will up
and turn you in.
I hope you die.
I hope you suffer and burn and
most of all,
I hope you do it all sober.
I hope you pay for what you did!
Because I've been there.
I can see shifty eyes of paranoia,
the need to sell to prevail
and buy more.
I can see the hunger.
You fucking basehead.
You fucking zombie.
You're going to do nothing but burn,
and I wish I could feel pity for you,
but you see
in my eyes your dead,
suffering in the hell flame of addiction,
and I hope it hurts.
I hope it hurts and makes you want to die,
and I hope when your palace of
methamphetamine
and illusion crashes,
you see what you have done.
I hope you suffer.




I wrote this yesterday after watching two girls get high in the bathroom, and heard them talk about meeting someone to sale the drugs to them. They talked about how funny they thought it was that they had just helped the person they were selling to try it, and now they kept wanting more. So while I hope they get sober and get the help that I did, I hope people who gets others hooked always regret what they did.


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09-09-2005 James Shammas    

Lots of anger, here-- though I sense some guilt also. It's raw, and makes the point of the pain and the misery of addiction, all around.

Jim


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