Treasure Island

Dilantha Gunawardana

Miasmas (Tale of a Drug Addict)

The fumes rise from the crystal powder
Ambrosia not or the tonic of clam chowder
This is the miasmas that a scatter of narcotics whisks
As the nostrils inhale the out-flowing mists

Miasmas at the swamps of human sin
As the powder resurrects temporally a human bin
That scavenges the remnants on the table top
A nadir for a dwindling life a true suction table-mop

Life mutates souls to a demonic existence
As self mutilation of the psyche takes utmost precedence
As the memories of his domineering fists fast disappear
The holes in the psyche gradually appear

The paitre the Diablo that turned the leaf
For a life of inhalation of alkaloids grief
Heroin or cocaine for an experience metaphysical
To fly away to the heavens for a life abyssal

Miasmas is the story of this young man
As the skies fell on his life’s plan
Plunging him to Hades that a sniff conjures
Blinded by the allure to the impending dangers

Will he transform in an unheralded metamorphosis
Or reach the morgue or even a vegetative abyss
Life deconstructed as the demons hover
No sanctuary to bind to for a narcotics lover

Languishing he is still in the crystals flare
Life to live in God’s reverberating glare
Time will tell the outcome of his pain rife
Peace regained or moping in a miasmas’s strife

Submitted: Monday, April 01, 2013
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