Psychoactive Substance

As he sits in the empty kitchen
waiting and wishing for someone-anyone to be pitchen,
he craves the euphoric effects
thinking about what it would be like inhaling the vaporized morphine
without the wax, lipids, and latex componets,
and only getting pure contaminants.
The poppy seed and codine takes over his thoughts,
he is a slave and his master resides in pots.
The sedative sweeps over him with thickly-veiled addiction and withdrawls,
and now Coldridge's unfinished Kubla Khan calls.
Is this a nation of hallucination?
Or is the CSA in control,
keeping the world from becoming a narcotic black hole?
Numbness of the percaset and vicadine,
as the herion pulses through his viens.
He doesn't want to face his pains
even contemplating blowing out his brains.
The existance is becoming distant.
Gasping for breath in the wading velvet sea,
now having to give the devil a plea.
Antiphsychotics, stimulants, and depressants...What is your poison?
The bright sky clouded with a haze of smoke and coke
brings him back to existance.
Coming down not wanting to face the fact,
doing anything to retract.
As he snorts the shakes come back,
hitting the floor...
closing the casket and no longer craving more.