The blue bag
The blue bag, that horrid, nasty blue bag.
A vessel for that loathsome poison.
I’m little, I’m small, does it matter at all?
My role to covey your poison.
Waiting, I’m waiting, outside I am waiting.
Inside you indulge in your vice.
You win, want more, I wait at the door
You win but I pay the price.
And so the next place. perpetual cycle.
Each time, your faculties waning.
Slurring, staggering, 'pass the blue bag’
unaware that inside I am flailing.
