I try to relate,
Not compare,
In rooms where stories spill.
Ten meetings now,
And a question haunts:
How far will you go for the drug?
I tore my home apart,
Flipped every corner,
Hunting for a bag already stolen.
Fury burned—
I’d have given my passport
Just to have that bag.
How twisted the mind becomes
When the drug whispers.
Some of us dive into bins,
Sifting through trash for a glimpse of relief.
Sometimes we find it,
More often, we don’t.
Or worse,
We find an empty bag—
A hollow green echo
Of all we’ve lost.
We sell our bodies,
Chase shadows,
Pay to be humiliated by others
Wrestling with their own hidden scars.
We call it pleasure,
But really,
It’s just shame wrapped in numbness.
Drugs tell us they’re friends—
But they lie.
The only friend left
Is the last flicker of decency
We’ve yet to destroy,
And the fragile hope of a future
We barely remember.
