Risk Ace

Risk Ace Poems

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Who said being an addict was bad? People tell you drugs are bad. They neglect to mention how good they make you feel. Who says nothing good comes out of being an addict? I'll leave you to judge for yourself.)

The Best Poem Of Risk Ace

Existentialism

And you slide down the wall in defeat.


(Be it the slick walls of oblivion

That render your eyes open but nigh seeing a vision)


Hate yourself for being so weak

You can't even quit for one day

Can nigh keep your addiction at bay.

The cigarette dangles from your lips

Wet and parted, sighing in bliss:

The smoke swirls about you in a hiss

Comfort to you it brings..

The solace you seek stings.

But such the contradiction it is...


You reprimand yourself for your addiction.

Common sense fleeting, long abandoned you has caution

You're delusional, out of your mind

you need sleep.

If sleep constituted as numb stares beyond - attempts to suppress the urge to weep?


Was, it, sleep?

Drugs to combat drugs

You shake your head and on your shirt you tug

Clutching the area above

Your non-existant heart.

Wishing, wishing that you could depart

Yourself, your life, the meaningless existance you are a part.


The sudden sensation that invades your skin

You think it unnerving, akin

To words acidic on your conscience raw

Behold, you mutter desolately, be in awe.

Of your nuanced grasp of reality..

You feel so out of it all.


Against the wall you curl

Knees drawn tight to your chest as abject misery is prevalant in your soul

'Damn- the world is starting to swirl-'

The morphine is bidding you a bitter farewell.


You despise the sensation.

Buy you bury your head in your arms

Futile attempt in blocking out Lady Morphine's charm

What choice do you have?

Your voice is muffled and whatever is said is a blur

Of soft words trying to bring comfort but naught but

Things that just cannot fix your err..


‘Your want for me has gravitated into a need.’

Your dry, cracking bones are rendered liquefied and paralyzed

By your beautiful morphine’s rasping voice

Washing over you and choking you in it’s vice-

Like grip- what

The morphine alone can reveal,

Strip away your time-honed façade

Threaten to drain your life before your eyes

Words rattled off unchecked in the guise of

An unstable, drug addled conscious

Stark blatant comments, you

Rant about the system

The meaningless existence you lead

And yet, nothing at all you feel.

‘Right now, I’m untouchable.’

But that’s not how your existence works.


You live for your next administration.

Question god about your life’s mission

And, in favor and praise of another ‘higher being’

You find yourself in that state.


‘That’s how your existence works’, you say

The scripted tragedy your are forced to play.

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