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