You've got a drug that you like to do,
Been looking for a vein but got so few;
Hunting with the needle there as you look,
The time is takes becomes whatever it took;
Poke after poke, for nothing you'll stop,
Until there's a backflow and in squirts every drop;
From side to side, poked all up and down,
Comes each stick with the wish it's found;
Skin punctures made from all those jabs,
You've worn the needle but continue the stabs;
Filled with bruises, only lumps gettin' high,
Sore all over still you continue to try;
Those slippery veins are the hardest to pin,
You're shovin' in deeper till you can't go no more in;
Still you hunt cause they all can't be that dry,
Been poking for hours and don't even cry;
Atlast, ...relief, good thing you needed just one,
The needle's squirtin'...and you're almost done;
Count each poke where ever the needle struck,
With that grand total, tell me, what's your luck?
Tony Avila Sampson
Copyright ©2006 Tony Avila Sampson
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem