My Poetry, The Whisper of the Vein.

They Come not with chains but a whispering kiss
promising heaven in a needles Hiss
In powdered dreams or Bottled Night
They sell you fire cloaked in light
A pill for pain, a drink for fear
a haze to make the edges clear.
A little hit A little high
A little taste or how to fly
But flight is short and wings are thin
and soon the walls come crashing in
what once felt warm begins to rot
The more you chase, the more your caught
your laughter fades the mirror lies
your World becomes a shrinking sky.
A friend turns thief, a Heart turns stone
your with a Crowd, but all alone
It Doesn't start with Broken bones
It starts with silence on your own
A choice, a try, a darker road
A burden that your never owed.
So hear this voice before the smoke
before the line, before your broke
You are enough, just as you are
You don't need Poisons to reach the stars.

DRUGS ARE FOR MUGS.


© William Sinclair Manson 2025