The Mind Of Addiction

Etch-a-sketched soul,
the scribbles of a ghost.
The careless hand of the begger
who has more then one can hold.

Five finger discount on
agony and cross words.

More than we bargained for.
Bits for the taking,
seeds in the making…
Just one bitter thorn.

Little as it be,
still one cut bleeds,
Never bleeds enough…

Ill in the mind,
grown over time,
No new fruit those vines did bare.

Parched and starved,
unruly harvests,
Left fields of I don't cares.
Wasting, wasted, …
The heart is left with tears.