All Things Killing You

I used to think the sickness was a virus,
poison from foods, not the beverages,
too young to understand the hangover remedy
of fingers reaching back to pull forward
toxins you ingested willingly.
I stand by, watching a slow suicide,
useless against the monsters you fight,
as addiction continues to hold you hostage.

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You push yourself for the highest position,
expectations exceed capabilities,
a love-hate relationship blossoms
at a point that you worked so hard for.
You appreciate the pay that brings pain
from working past logical possibility.

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The smoke is handled by the wind,
swirling circles make halos
with every drag you take.
Fate’s subtle reminder of a slow death,
you justify it’s coping with stress.
Nicotine whispers sweet nothings in your ear
and you’re addicted to the intimacy it brings.

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Insomnia makes a deal with stress,
shakes the hand that holds your eyelids open,
forcing activity into a restless mind.
He rolls your conscience into a ball
and plays ping-pong with your thoughts,
leaving you awake to keep score.

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