In a dark alleyway
Odiferous with dog droppings
Needles and tin litter his surrounding space,
The pallid youth, curled up in a cardboard womb,
Or coffin, prepares himself for the gradual dying
Of sweat and the clamping withdrawal.
He must face yet
One more fix for the comatose heaven
To relight his system
In a dark world of diminishing returns.
He burns as he tightens the tourniquet
And injects his solution, the only solution
To his terrible craving.
Does he not hear his mother's agonized sobbing?
Heart-wrenching, Tom. Thankfully, I have never known anyone addicted to hard drugs (at least not to my knowledge; I suppose there may be some who could keep it secret) .
The torment caused by craving has never been presented so well. This Poet has a golden pen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this poet has a golden pen ... quite a compliment Tom ... congratulations