False Creation

What is it?
That magnificent feeling,
It sort of takes your breath away.
It even gives you the shakes,
Makes you think everything is going to be okay.
False hope is all it makes.
It’s a creator
It creates some fucked up visions.
Makes you think everything’s ok,
It’s not.
Nowhere near ok.
You’ll do anything for it.
To catch that feeling before the high wears off.
That high.
That’s what you’ve wasted your life away on
Trying to chase it.
You don’t realize that it controls your every move.
It’s a disease that controls your brain,
It makes you sick.
You obey its every command,
You give up everything so the high will strive.
Aren’t you forgetting something?
The drugs tells you no.
Your thinking its your brain that tells you no.
Your brain is being suffocated by the drugs.
You think your fine,
Your barely alive.
Your sick.
Your wasted.
Can you taste the truth?
Soon enough you’ll be dead.
Another statistic.
Another face that lost its life to drugs.
You thought you’d be strong enough to control it.
Its torturous.
Its no ones fault but your own
It’s the path you’ve chosen to go.