Choking 'pon herbs an' chemical
Twisted Brain absent of breath
Both Halves anti-symmetrical
In all essence waiting on Death
Still th' User bleeds for th' Rush
Which in turn begs logic to hush.
And like black cars attract to dust
And, old coffin nails cling to rust
So too th' user must have his fix
To th' ambience...of emotional trix
An' the lie, that poppies ne'er prick
Jaded minds 'less th'eyes are fixed
Mercurial Brain drained of breath
Asystole, followed by Time of Death.
©Frank James Ryan, Jr./FjR
All Rights Reserved- MMXVI
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Some are less harmful and addictive than others, and can help 'expand' consciousness. But not all people can employ them responsibly.