Addict

Needle inducing rushes will not take away The pain. Your bloodied crown of thorns will still remain. You're another troubled type that this wanton age Has crucified in its cold, systematic ways For you the present is pitch black and the cold eyes Of despair penetrate deep within your soul. Lies And deceit are devouring you. Once you were free And life was filled with endless possibilities. But now the future is a chasm. You have aged Rapidly, as all your precious days fade away. Your frail dreams seem to turn to nightmares in the blink Of an eye. In twilight skies, another sun sinks. Then there is stark silence as the sweet birdsong dies. You're confronted with shadows in all their guises. You stare blankly at all the bleak textures of night. Your only hope appears in a smear of moonlight.