DRUGS Poem: Another Hit, by Shawn Scott Smith

The song on the radio is familiar but unkind,
Your steps are heavy, dragging down the line.
The effect is wearing off, time soothes into reality.
This can not stand.

The butcher shop stinks of rotten meat,
The clouds in your veins parting, trying to let the sun in.
Your head is heavy, the need to rest begins,
Find somewhere to land.

And then the shakes begin, rattle rattle rattle.
Your heart earns for more, another respite to the real,
The place where you dream is gone,
Another hit, or good god damn.

Author: poetryfest

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