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Sleep is far from me.
My head is spinning.
I can't concentrate
On the edge of my bed.
My focus is off,
But I can see the antidote.
I'm stumbling forward.
I want the syrup,
The reason why I'm faint;
I'm weak and falling.
I'm going crazy for it.
I'm low, low, low.
My soul has a habit.
My body loves the medicine.
My heart is fully distracted.
My mind is confused.
Should I take it once again
And taste it with my lips?
Should I hide from intervention?
My stomach is quizzy.
My chest is in my throat
Remembering the high highs.
I make the call in the night
And I'm satisfied again
With its limited supply.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2008

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