Mind of the Addicted

As I crash this lethal syringe through my vein,

I think about how no one tries to understand my pain.

People only judge me for what I do,

but the reason why they have no clue.

I’ve tried to get help for my so-called problems,

psychiatrists only make it worse and never solve them.

They tell me to stop and drug abuse should never last,

but no one knows the abuse lies not in my veins but in my past.

No one will listen for what I have to tell,

about how I grew up in this place called hell.

My mother died and my father drank too often,

I bet he never knew that it would put him in a coffin.

Even then nobody knew my grief,

to me a painful death would be sweet relief.

People see me and walk the other way,

I don’t their money but someone to talk with and stay.

Society sees us as people who are self-conflicted,

I wish society understood the mind of the addicted.