Unclean

Whenever he felt like the walls were closing in, like there was no more hope That's when he visited his favorite gallery, his shooting gallery for shooting dope He had an infected arm, he had an infected leg So he plunged the syringe in the vein in his neck behind the right eye, which stopped that sick feeling like he was about to die Now he was euphorically rising like 99 luft balloons, so out of body, floating so tangerine high This time he met the devil, and he seemed like a pleasant enough fellow He looked like a hotel desk clerk The devil said: he hope he enjoyed his stay, and will he be checking out today? Compliments of the house, he don't have to pay Then he shakes his hand, giving him a devilish grin Now he's rolling himself in a a hospital wheelchair, smack-in his head, trying to shake out the static Aaahh ... now the picture's clearing up He's a blimp floating high in the sky, looking down at a yellow tape scene, like somebody had just died There's a lot of commotion, and an ambulance streaking by But he don't care who it is, he don't care why He's so out of body, so floating higher and high The people on the ground start looking like ants, moving in the dirt like maggot crawling things Then he chuckle at his last thought ... and they say he's the one who needs to get clean! This poem is dedicated to anyone who lost a love one through substance abuse, or who has struggled, or is struggling w/it themselves or their love ones is struggling w/it. May God give you or your loved ones comfort