Darker are my circles,
frizzier is my hair.
Blacker are my clothes,
and colder is my stare.

Dryer are my lips,
More acned is my face.
Thinner are my hips,
hurried is my embrace.

Faster are my fingers,
quieter is my voice.
My gaze no longer lingers,
not even for a simple choice.

Faltering is my footfall,
Stuttered are my words.
Clearly this is my downfall,
am I responsible for what occurs?

More silent are my mornings,
more clothed have become my wrists.
Less seriously I take their warnings,
more eagerly I take the risks.

If I start with bad intentions,
then how can I possibly fail?
It's only just my indication,
that I'm aware addiction prevails.