on days like these
when everything is static
and i can pick apart
the stale predictability
like some old pro junkie
scraping the inside of a baggy
for one more hit

i have to wonder

if my spot-on memory
of all those chemically-induced 
techno colour states
is a blessing or a curse
if there's ever a point
where the shit i learned
in my "other life"
will be relevant to "real life"

and how many fucking years
i'll have to go clean
before i stop feeling
like just another druggy.