As he tied the tourniquet around his arm,

The user thought he was exempt from harm,

As the tip of the needle broke his skin,

He felt a little prick, like a pin,

As the contents of the syringe were compressed,

The user was no longer depressed,

The syringes contents rushed into his vein,

He felt no more pain,

With death his friend had a close brush,

But he was not worried, he was enjoying the rush,

He felt a cramp and a twinge,

There had been too much in the syringe,

His face turned blue as he slumped to the floor,

Promising not to use anymore,

Not learning from his mate,

He had sealed his own fate,

People around just went back inside,

As the user, curled up and died.

 

Steve Corke

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