Two Minutes by Eric Sparks

I have not but two minutes to write this poem;
somebody sing me a song; teach me the right and the wrong;
it’s hard enough to get along without the
drugs bum-rushing my head;
those days, the love falls instead
of the haze. Then the Cubs crawl back into back into bed;
they will never win the world series.

I keep hoping they hear me; but clearly, no one
I really need is anywhere near me. Heal me
and cure me, bad drugs give me that feeling; Shit,
I have nearly every reason in the world to fear me. I can
hear myself talking, saying “Pour me a beer please”
in a distant tone; this is a queer dream.

Those old fools are peering; they see me
as they’re equal; each night that they pray,
they hope I’m their sequel. But I look in their eyes,
and I see the beetles; despite the lies and disguise,
their minds are see through.

And I think that I’ll leave soon; I’ll wave goodbye to
the bad and leave the mad to their own lane. I’m not saying
I need a entirely new way, but I think some change
could potentially save my life. Believe me, I’m not ready
to fall apart; I’ll just put one foot in front of the other,
because I’m scared of the dark.