The Cure

You're an active participant in your own destruction
A dark presence in your life that constantly feeds
Both a victim and a villain in your own corruption
A single puff is all you think you need

With desperation you try to light
The stick of death clenched tight in your hands
A minute tremble in your hands, so slight
As you try to fulfill your body's demands

Wasting away after a few days
You try not to move, to induce stillness
Your breath is short and your eyes glazed
You shake

Body temperature fluctuating from hot to cold
Unstable and yet,
Unable to face the world without it
It's a paradox cure that makes you insecure

You masochistically lay willing in the grip of death
Your diseased body expelling smoke with every breath
Pollution in your body
Pollution in your soul
Using your cure to fill the hole
where your meaning in life used to be

You gave it up that night
when you took the hand that offered you The Drug
that only took a few hits to become The Cure