The Storm

I’m so sorry for the long post, but I wrote a poem about heroin and meth addiction from a personal perspective and wanted to share. This is my first time posting here. Please no judgment.

They say, “There’s always silence before a storm, you see?”

I never quite understood that — until the storm became me.

I used to be a calm, bright sunny day

With a hint of rain floating gently my way.

But I turned into a raging, violent hurricane,

Mixed with midwinter’s brutal, freezing pain.

It took just one time for each to have me hooked —

The little bags of death, the glass shards that were cooked.

The rattle of plastic still echoes in my brain,

Along with the click of a torch — and the bitter taste of sin before the rain.

Each line a reminder of the chaos I’ve created,

Each puff a memory of the times I wasn’t isolated.

Over a year now, I’ve drifted closer to the grave;

I may be the storm, but most days, I feel like a slave.

I remember when my nights still glowed with light,

Now every day’s a chase — no ending in sight.

I’ve burned every bridge, like the flame against my bowl,

Can’t remember a time I was ever in control.

Day and night blur, my sanity fading fast,

Replaced by the wide eyes of the storm — and euphoria that doesn’t last.

Will this beautiful pandemonium ever give way

To something softer, to a new kind of day?

Will this raging storm ever calm, or wash out my dismay?

Only time will tell — so I wait,

Making lines, melting glass,

Waiting for the storm’s fate.

 Will this beautiful pandemonium ever turn the corner to a new kind of day?

Will this raging storm ever calm and wash out the dismay?

Only time will tell so until I just wait,

Making lines and melting glass waiting for the storms fate.