December 4, 2010
By Gianna7 BRONZE, Media, Pennsylvania
Gianna7 BRONZE, Media, Pennsylvania
4 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I would not call myself an addict
But that’s why it’s tragic
It is not put into a package
I can’t hide it in baggage
The cops aren’t tracking it
And I don’t look like I’ve had a hit
But neither do you
But you’re infected too
Inhale, exhale
It travels slowly like airmail
Mother Earth tries to cure
We only ignore
We let the dealer feed
We can’t recede
See a hospital bed
Maybe a man dead
Filled with chemicals that are coveted by most
But they are nothing to toast
No such thing as a breath of fresh air
But we don’t care
We rather feed the addiction
Without the conviction
We need the wealth
We accept our bad health
We put up with the side effects
For reasons that are too complex
Now we pay the price
Global warming for our bank heist

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