Twenty

poem about the sickness

Still yet, I wake in the twilight
rising up from dreams
of dope and smoke and smoldering cigarettes-
throw on my jeans and
commence to sitting on the rocker
vascillating,
disappearing from reality...

demons, familiars come
only late in the night-
early morning hell,
devoid of sleep,
raging with crave...

Go forth!
demon, I need you no more!

Come sleep,
sweet precious sleep.
Bring me my madness,
my love.