Infection

I was a junky once... Shooting up is like a disease you have control over, but can't stop fueling You get higher and higher and you always fall twice as hard You can feel pieces of your mind, body, and soul floating away into the sea of addiction With every shot you lose a little more hope Every empty needle is another broken dream In the beginning you see it as being crazy and obscure, just like anyone else judging from the outside It's amazing how quickly it becomes a familiar and normal part of your lifestyle It's a part of you, just as important as breathing, if not more Even if you do get out alive, everything inside of you is dead You slowly start to resume the routines of your life before the sickness, but it can never be the same It haunts you in your dreams It laughs at you in your nightmares It call for you when you least expect it And your veins cry back for it like an infant to its mother, begging you to take the pain away Time will go by You'll feel close to human again But the random shakes and aches will always remind you of the demoralizing underworld you were once a part of... ...and in some ways, you'll always be a part of.