Crying babies in a crib,
Dope head mother, get a grip,
Men in suits are on their way,
But you get fucked up everyday,
Used needles on coffee tables,
You spend your days inside fables,
Can't get back onto the wagon,
You're too busy chasing dragons,
Your mind wanders into space,
While government men are at your place,
Say goodbye to your children,
This should have set off a siren,
No longer are children crying,
Because the mother stopped trying,
Now once again you are all alone,
Another reason to get stoned,
The devil grips you as he winks,
The pit gets deeper as you sink,
YOU ARE READING
Poet's Trauma
PoetryA collection of poetry I've written over the years. Note: Mature.
