The burning desire—

No, the need—

To get more.

Your next hit.

Your skin crawls

I watch you

As your body shakes.

You say it’s okay

That you’ll be fine

You just need some more.

But it doesn’t work like that

Does it?

You always need more

More and more and more

You trust it with your life.

It makes you even more depressed.

Ironic, isn’t it?

That the things you used

To hide from your depression

Makes it more so?

Cigarette smoke fogging the room

Broken needles lying on the floor

Lighters, burnt spoons

Your happy little pills.

That’s what you call them.

But they aren’t so happy, are they?

You don’t seem very happy.

The drugs

The cigarettes

The alcohol

None of it makes you better.

It makes you wake up

Late at night

And cry.