The high life

The pit of death lies ahead,
For those who let it get to their head,
And as for me,
Once pretty, now a nightmare,
I am as good as dead.

I look back in the day,
When I knew sobriety,
When I was merry, gay
Now,
Those days have faded away,
I live by shots,
Of crack and beer.
How did I ever get here?

I live in fear,
Thinking that my end is near,
I have failed to quit,
The price I pay is dear.
But hell,
I would rather die,
Than feel the pain,
I often endure.

As I reduce to nothing,
Someone has become something,
Because of me,
The girl who is unstable,
Bloodshot eyes on bad days,
Goofy grins and endless giggles on good days.

Lord,
How I hate him,
Hate him for the disease he is,
Yet I need him,
I need him since I refused to quit.
I need him for the balm he bears for my sores.
I need him for being a constant shadow, a source,
Of party thrills, and freaky nights.
He never left,
When everyone else did.
But wait!
Did I not push them away?
I dumped the friend,
For the greedy enemy.
Why won't anyone stop him?
He stole my life to build his,
He rode the mare,
While I clang to the tail.

I am soiled, I know,
Nobody can save me, I accept.
But what of the rest?
Those who are rookies to the test.
Don't they deserve to be saved?
Do they not have the right to a life?
A clean life,
Away from poisonous entrepreneurs.

Where is society?
Clergymen and family.
Who are the allies?
Drug lords or rehab?
The ratio of which outweighs the other.
I want to know people.
I demand for an answer.
For the morgue crowds with people like me,
People who convulsed to their death, People,
Young and old,
People who were sold,
To the high that is the devil.
While y'all thought it only happens in Mexico!

When you see me,
I am the reflection of death.
When you look into my eyes,
You will understand the length,
Of my hatred for him.
When you read this poem in depth,
You will learn of a path,
A path you would rather avoid.