I don’t go for mind expansion
or for beer, and much less booze.
All I want’s some junk from punctures
that sunk me to a snooze.
I’m lethargic, far from snappy
and much money’s down the drain.
I’m high and will be tomorrow. . .
satiate that needy vein.

Filled with meds imposed by needles
that I thread to the mainline.
I will never drown my sorrow
via punch bowl or the vine.
Left arm’s chink is kinda scabby
from much pumping of the vein.
I’m high and will be tomorrow,
and I rarely am in pain.

Filled with meds imposed by needles
that I send to the mainline.
Don’t intend to drown my sorrow
via pipe bowl or the vine.
Price is high, requiring money;
when of the month, it’s that time,
I’ll have bled—not as a mommy—
I ain’t the double X kind.
Cross that’s Red sticks me with needles,
pays me gelt, I scarf a dime.