Four Poor Junkies By the Illustrious Free Cee
DO DON’T, WILL, WON’T
We were wandering, we were lost
Four who knew not the route out of a maze
Other’s blood upon our hearts was there embossed
Never to forget a dead man’s glaring gaze
Once, twice and then one becomes numb and void
While death becomes birth’s ally and partner in crime
Some may swear and some become annoyed
Each time we got high it was as if all we had was time
Each time a dealer hands you a bag a soul never knows
Each time a dealer hands you a bag you think it gives the power to you
And you know that, death is sometimes just the way it goes
And to ignore that fact is what ignorant junkies opt to do
I, on the other hand swore that I would not die’
For careful was I about who and where i wouldst go
If I didn’t know the dealer I wasn’t getting high
Because rat poison is cheaper than lactose, that much I know
Some dealers feel a junkie’s angst and desperate needs
As that junkie grows more fearsome in a sordid sort of way
Both dealers and junkies are forced to do some desperate deeds
Yet out of four poor wanderers I’m the only one still alive
© 2011.….Poefree
Copyright © Jeffry Cohan | Year Posted 2011
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