You tell yourself that it won't hurt.
Not one line.
Not another.
Not one more.
And then, with no warning,
You're doing line after line.
Just like in the movies.
Just like you said would never happen.
Not you.
It can't be.
You're not that person.
But it looks like you are.
You are now.
In the high scool bathroom, off of
A toilet paper dispenser,
You're snorting line after line of
White powder, crushed pill.
And you don't feel the least bit
Bad.
Elation, power, happiness,
Freedom.
But no regret, remorse.
You feel in control.
Line after line of knowledge.
Line after line of surges of emotion.
Line after line of true meaning in life.
Line after line of everything you're
Running away from.
Don't run away from it.
You got this far. Keep going.
See how low you can get.
And remember:
Just one more line...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem