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Fiend


Stumbling down

a cooked stairwell.

Gathering self,

just to fall as a pin drops.


Outside is barren,

lit by an eerie

roadside lamp.

A cool breeze roams the street.


Clawing at pale skin

a junkie lays on the cracked sidewalk,

feeling as if

a tormented soul.


The jaded addict’s

mind starts to spin.

As their feet drag

towards a ghetto town.


Screams can be heard.

from their spirit.

Grasping at any

tainted money in their pockets.


Finally, a friend gets,

his dirty fix.

Feeling better,

falling asleep on a neon sign.

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1 Comment


Addiction is a bitch, so I appreciate whenever someone writes about it -- even if it wasn't the central theme of this poem. It's not easy to capture that truly trapped sensation in words, so we could use the imagery of what it does to a person. Nice work, though. I appreciate the tone created

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