grinding tribulations
that lead me to my death
the hatred swells inside of me
and takes away my breath

bursting out of every pore
the blood of junkyism and defeat
it comforts me to know
that at least i can still bleed

my body is limp and empty
i’m floating high above
that shape in the corner
is me without drugs

hatred turns to pain
that breaks my fragile heart
i’m left wounded and searching
for love that never comes.

Categorized as poetic

By The Dying Euphoria

I may not be the average junk addict, seeing as I still have a few things going for me, but I'm a slave to heroin just the same. I'm a sad sight, no doubt, but that's the way life is, and you can't help it. So whatever you do, don't try and fuck with it. I like it when people e-mail me and reply to my posts, so please, speak your mind to me, if you wish. I have a blood, violence, and self mutilation fetish, so I'll spend a lot of time in the Erotica section, posting and reading. I write poetry, and I'll be posting thousands of poems. So please, check for my name often. If I disappear, well, I probably took my fetish too far...