Methods Poem by Chris Newlash

There is no logic, no math, no rhyme.
A toxic path, time after time.
The glass will break and the ice will melt.
Drugs can't erase your pain that's felt.

The hurt will be back, and I will not.
Loneliness will: surround and haunt.
When you take your breath of meth
I can only wish you on your very best.

I'll never understand the song you whisper,
A crystal chime, a sinister figure.
Try to sleep now; become rested
As I leave, and brood your meth-head method.