Scourge

I found the affliction deep in my bed; no sleep for angels and no devils dead. Made an infliction to block out the chill, but no comfort in Heaven, no green pastures or hills. Found in Admission a comfort so still that idle hands itched and stashed all the pills. One day, I shattered and took ‘em all straight; doctors took care not a second too late. Again: the sharp fix, my own tears I ate and devils and demons showed me my hate. My own scars confessed me -- progress: flow’rs dead; wrapped in isolation forced rest ‘till it bled. Met a man in freedom community for sure; saw the scars on his arms; lone night next a blur. Then tried to kill the voices tripping in my head; reached out for pain -- found hope instead.