The grasp of addiction

The Grasp of Addiction I speak the words of quiet lies, Each syllable a masked demise. On the boulevard of broken dreams, I walk through shadows, torn at the seams. Funny highs, with drunken cries, A fleeting joy beneath dark skies. Addiction whispers, a siren’s call— It holds me tight; I start to fall. My dopamine spikes dreadfully, A hollow victory consuming me. This fleeting fix, my heart it cheats, And I declare, "It’s just my guilty treat." But guilt becomes my second skin, A fight I lose, I cannot win. The beast inside demands its fill, And bends my life beneath its will. Each drag, each sip, each bitter dose, Leaves me farther from what I need most. A fleeting rush, a hollow gain, An endless loop of bliss and pain. The mirror cracks; I see my face, A haunted shell in a losing race. Yet still, the urge won't release its hold— A grasp so tight, so cruel, so cold. But somewhere deep, a light remains, Faint and flickering through the chains. A voice that whispers, soft and true: "You’re more than this—it’s not all you."