Habit

Skin slick, face pale, eyes leak,
as blood begins to habit speak:
“Shelter seek, three doses deep”

through veins the poison seeps,
through chinks in armor creeps,
the painless pins to flesh prick,

But it’s a trick, a sick mind’s flick.
Lights out – got candle, no wick.
Sealed up, truth begins to stick:

So far gone – home but homesick.
Be sludge, slammed, must quit.
No more man, lost all wit.

Now where’s the respite?
green sign, nearest exit?
Come play friends in my cesspit.