Substance abuse
Radioactive laughter fuses such swell.
Swell is the substance, the breath and my body.
My body, my breath and my substance.
Waiting to get abused.
The soldier gets his glow-sticks out.
The man of substance. That look, worn-out.
He points the gun on my heart, I feel him in my gut.
Orchids pour out of this smut and am very hurt.
A whiff of substance I burn in.
Never will I sustain as whole again.
I touch myself again and forget that I was once electric.
To pick up your stash and leave is another thing,
to leave your stash and leave is another.
But to lose your substance altogether is of bother.
Pari
Figment 