Tin, all that blocks

No one's home

The toxin calls

The cleaners of chores

You should hate the smell

But the headaches don't stop

The scent too enticing

Curiosity ends all nine of your lives

The rag is heavy

Your hands eager shake

Pupils dilate

But the stimulants

Don't work

Your highs are low

Your brain too controlled

Try again

Be braver

A little more than the last two times

Or three

Or ten

Inhale again

The migraine starts

You go blind

By the third whiff

In your drunken stupor

You hear the door

A frantic mother

Blocking a stressful life

Slowly pushing towards you

The cloth drops

You fall to blackness

The sterile room greets

Your family in tears

Open your mouth

You can't speak

Or comfort

You lie

You let your brain die

In clouded mind

That one smell remains

Viscous, sulking

Calling, laughing

Pain worse than stress

Homework is nothing

Your brain's too damaged

To hold your tools

Your friends are jealous

Your state should be enough of a warning