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Whenever he felt like the walls were closing in,
like there was no more hope
That's when he visited his favorite gallery,
his shooting gallery for shooting dope

He had an infected arm,
he had an infected leg
So he plunged the syringe in the vein
in his neck behind the right eye,
which stopped that sick feeling like he was about to die

Now he was euphorically rising like 99 luft balloons,
so out of body,
floating so tangerine high

This time he met the devil,
and he seemed like a pleasant enough fellow
He looked like a hotel desk clerk
The devil said: he hope he enjoyed his stay,
and will he be checking out today?
Compliments of the house, he don't have to pay
Then he shakes his hand, giving him a devilish grin

Now he's rolling himself in a a hospital wheelchair,
smack-in his head, trying to shake out the static
Aaahh ... now the picture's clearing up
He's a blimp floating high in the sky,
looking down at a yellow tape scene,
like somebody had just died
There's a lot of commotion,
and an ambulance streaking by
But he don't care who it is, he don't care why
He's so out of body,
so floating higher and high
The people on the ground start looking like ants,
moving in the dirt like maggot crawling things
Then he chuckle at his last thought ...
and they say he's the one who needs to get clean!


This poem is dedicated to anyone who lost a love one through 
substance abuse, or who has struggled, or is struggling w/it themselves or their love ones is struggling w/it. May God give you or your loved ones 
comfort

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