The Junkie

Weighing Ifs against a tray of Hope
Pure and white,
finest powdery snow
Measure out an ounce
Bag it up to sell on the corner
Along with what's left of you.

A hit to get you through the day
A pick me up just before lunch
Another to help you sleep at night
An 8 ball of Hope a week
Shake and quake and twitch for your fix
Feel it slide up your veins
and coat your heart
In its sweet balm
In cool, crisp calmness
Breathe a sigh
Let that tear slip past your lids
Soothing Hope
Sugary Hope
Enough to make your teeth rot
and send your head into the
deepest daydreams
and Wishes

Your makeshift addiction
The single thread
to hold you suspended
Over the racing cars
and thudding hearts
But it's not a problem.

There are worse things to crave
than a little fix of Hope.

(A/N: Thanks so much for taking the time to read. As always, I would love to hear your feedback on my work. Poetry isn't my usual outlet and as such I'm always seeking opinions on it. So review!)