5d • Poetry
Blue Fever
A pressed-up pill, a "m30" ghost,
The devil’s math is what kills the most.
A little blue bit, a speck in the tray,
To make the whole world just flicker away.
No "velvet thrill," just a clinical drop,
A sudden silence when the heartbeats stop.
"Got any blues?" is the street corner hymn,
Where the eyes are all glazed and the chances are slim.
It ain't like the brown or the old-school high,
It’s a five-dollar bet that you’re ready to die.
One minute you’re leaning, chasing the nod,
The next, you’re meeting a localized god.
The narcan is ready, the sirens are near,
But the "fetty" is louder than any damn fear.
It’s a ghost in the foil, a smoke in the chest,
A permanent sleep for a soul with no rest.
No "fall full of grace" or a shimmering light,
Just a cold concrete floor in the middle of night.
But the blues lose their bite, the tolerance climbs,
You’re chasing a ghost a thousand more times.
Then the pressies ain't enough to keep off the sick,
You need something heavy, something lethal and quick.
You graduate fast to that raw, white rock,
Pure powder chaos, no key in the lock.
No filler, no dye, just the weight in a bag,
A white-powder shroud, a surrender-white flag.
The block is a graveyard that’s still walking 'round,
With spirits already six feet in the ground.
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Blue Fever
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Fentanyl is a fatal drug. I'm a recovering addict who still relapses and I feel a community can help me and hopefully another stay sober and alive.
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