The Addicted

What do you see when you look in my eye? Can you feel my pain, even though I don't cry? They don't understand why I do what I do. But how could they know, if they've never been through? They say I need help, they lock me up from fear. They want me to stop, but there's more in here. They look down on me because I have fallen. I want it to stop, but addiction is calling. So I pray every day, for the war to end. But it only gets worse, the dreams come again. They don't understand what's wrong with my mind. As I reach out for help, that I can't seem to find. So they let me go, despite all there fear. I walk through the door, it's like I wasn't here. They put me on paper, my freedoms restricted. I'm no longer a number, but I'm still the addicted.