Down the Tubes

[DMS]

Porter isn’t scared, but torn between the parts.
Either tortoise or the hare, when he pours it in his arms,
It makes him feel alive. How it grabs him by the palm.
It takes to him the side where he’s active when he’s calm.

How sweet the lips it seems it is are when they do the waltz,
When the maiden is on his arm.

His house is more a sty; his life became a mess.
All his plays are meant to tie, just to draw the game of chess.
His goals are not to make advance, but just to slay regress.
As his only want in life has him laid to rest.

The hopeless fell to soak and dwell in simpish sides.
Notably the broken seems to choke and wheeze until his highs.
He strokes the blade and grips the knife.
The potion ‘came his kryptonite.

The addict takes the needle, tho he knows he may just glimpse the light.
The substance is his IV, for the use of it’s what gives him life.