Your Poetry Dot Com - 10 Empty Promises to be Scraped

Array ( [sid] => 163042 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => 10 Empty Promises to be Scraped [time] => 2010-11-03 19:07:36 [hometext] => Addiction as (hellish) religion [bodytext] => Bound up in stacks of ten and waiting for the fiends
Stamps advertise as worthy buys but leaves men dead or lost as teens
To gain paradise with a crumpled five was glorious it seemed
Cause heaven's in the needle, the lean, the closest thing to god he's seen

The high begins before pupils turn to pins
You win when spikes stab your skin, the sight should make you cringe
Hook shot's hungry for the tinge in the syringe
The snake, the ribbon, the string, the red... the push....the rush.... the grin

Dope's the flesh water's the blood in this eucharist from hell
The saving grace has turned its face yet you consume it to get well
Echoes of the promise ring like a tolling bell
Fading to lost freedom, death, and silence though you yell [comments] => 1 [counter] => 164 [topic] => 66 [informant] => Cheshire [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => drugabuse ) Your Poetry Dot Com - 10 Empty Promises to be Scraped

10 Empty Promises to be Scraped
Date: Wednesday, 3rd November 2010 @ 07:07:36 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: Cheshire

Bound up in stacks of ten and waiting for the fiends
Stamps advertise as worthy buys but leaves men dead or lost as teens
To gain paradise with a crumpled five was glorious it seemed
Cause heaven's in the needle, the lean, the closest thing to god he's seen

The high begins before pupils turn to pins
You win when spikes stab your skin, the sight should make you cringe
Hook shot's hungry for the tinge in the syringe
The snake, the ribbon, the string, the red... the push....the rush.... the grin

Dope's the flesh water's the blood in this eucharist from hell
The saving grace has turned its face yet you consume it to get well
Echoes of the promise ring like a tolling bell
Fading to lost freedom, death, and silence though you yell

This poem is Copyright © Cheshire

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