cigarettes & bottles of booze

unsteady feet & shaking hands

a once strong & wonderful person

reduced to a faint wispy shadow

stained glass but faded and cracked

glass on the floor

a bottle dropped from a clumsy hand

it's out of control

the addiction takes over 

you know it's bad but that doesn't matter

it's a cycle

so you put that bottle to your lips & swallow it

gulp it down

it's good but it's bad

it's bad but it's good

what happens when the medicine is poison?

what happens when the good is the bad?

drink some more to settle your mind

start all over again

you need to control

what happens when you can't even control your own body?

you're sick and tired of the pitying glances

they mean well but they don't understand

you know you're killing yourself

you know you're wasting away

"I should be stronger" you think

you think it's your fault

and maybe,

maybe a tiny bit it is

but you know you don't deserve what's happened

"one drink" you said

you didn't know that one would turn into two, two into three, and three into three hundred

depression takes over

the bottle is the cure, even though you know that's not true

the bottle is the problem, you know that's true

so why can't you stop?

is there a way to stop?

will it never stop?

will the cycle keep turning, like a bike's wheel down hard concrete hills

or will some twist of fate come in the way

before you fly over the handles and crash?

you pray to god

god, I don't know what to do. help me. please.

you wait for an answer

nothing comes

no celestial voices or heavenly summons

is god not listening? are you not important enough?

you know karma's fake because you did nothing bad enough to get something like this

your days are engulfed by the waves of alcohol

it's like a life support machine gone wrong, you think.

can't live without it but can't live with it either.

you're deemed a lost cause.

you live on the streets

because alcohol doesn't pay rent.

you cry tears of vodka and beer

you can't stop

you need help, but you're just so tired.

and every night, as you go to sleep on a pillow of bottles,

you think to yourself:

addiction sucks