Zombies

Slaves to substance.
A contemporary horde.
Dancing like puppets,
Pulled by the strings of a primal need.

The frenzied urge to feed has slowly taken over,
Infected you to the core,
Now its completely claimed your conscious mind.

No other thought enters your head,
There's no room for any other desire.

None but the need to feed your craving
Created by the poison that pumps through your veins.

At first you believed that the disease could be controlled,
Not seeing the way it made you slowly decay.
Now you see how it unravels you to your very core,
But its too late now.
You're too far gone to care.