in the night…

his cries
throughout the night
pleaded for
help
again
and
again
he cried out
help me
perhaps the cries
were part
of his dementia
a childhood fear
of what the night
hides in its corners
or
the fading effects
of medication
it did not
matter why
each cry
pierced my dreams
as if my own cry
and i understood
how helpless
our cries
can be
how the emptiness
of the night
can bring forth
the fears of the day
that death
is
real

addiction…

Image from BBC News

a street drug
no
a medication
i do this because i have to
i was forced into this
by
my parents
my wife
my children
they all demanded
they all required
things of me
everyone expects that i
and i alone
serve their needs
so each day i
place the hose
begin the injections
like piercing society’s skin
and the energy flows
as quickly as blood
pumps in the body
it is not my fault
i am not to blame
please believe me
i am not to blame
i wash my hands of this
the oil on your shores
is not due
to my addiction
it was
their
fault