Scourge

I found the affliction
deep in my bed;
no sleep for angels
and no devils dead.

Made an infliction
to block out the chill,
but no comfort in Heaven,
no green pastures or hills.

Found in Admission
a comfort so still
that idle hands itched
and stashed all the pills.

One day, I shattered
and took ‘em all straight;
doctors took care
not a second too late.

Again: the sharp fix,
my own tears I ate
and devils and demons
showed me my hate.

My own scars confessed me --
progress: flow’rs dead;
wrapped in isolation
forced rest ‘till it bled.

Met a man in freedom
community for sure;
saw the scars on his arms;
lone night next a blur.

Then tried to kill the voices
tripping in my head;
reached out for pain --
found hope instead.