Sunday, November 29, 2020

Drugs Are What We Do By John Patrick Robbins

When we no longer can play as children, so we decay as adults.
It's just something to escape and sometimes keep us going.
 
It starts out easy and seldom ends well.
But it's always memorable in some fashion or the other.
 
Drugs didn't start with us, but I believe I have done my share
to promote my addictions and exploit my vices.
 
From the simple joys of alcohol, to the overindulgence of cocaine.
Drugs aren't for everyone because they're really expensive.
 
But building ships in bottles and collecting ceramic elephants just doesn't seem as cool.
 
As burning out from a swift decline.
Anything in the name of art and good time.
 
See ya kids, I need to go meet my dealer and I never like to be late for my doctor's appointment.
 
I really wish that quack would lend me that pad and I would happily write out my own prescription.
 
I guess he doesn't trust a junkie.
Kind of strange being he never seemed to mind helping create one.
 
Cheers.




John Patrick Robbins is the editor in chief of The Rye Whiskey Review.

His work has been published in Fearless Poetry Zine ,Punk Noir Magazine , Spill The Words, The Blue Nib, San Pedro River Review, Heroin Love Songs, 1870 Magazine, Piker Press.


His work is always unfiltered. 



No comments:

Post a Comment

Drunk Haze by George Gad Economou

swilling down bourbon till the very end of memories,  stumbling my way out of the barroom engirdled by fancy dinner-goers in a bar not for d...