How can you judge the junkie when your sleepless nights are cured with a doctors signature?
You judge the junkie when you use the same drug essential for your pain, somehow a professionals opinion makes yours' legit. Though when has it been possible to know anothers' pain.
You feel secure in your superiority despite the blue pill that keeps your stress from eating you on a daily basis because you had to have an interview in a fancy office to cop your fix.
Until your sleepless nights torture your already pain filled limbs and tortured psyche and you can find no "legitimate" recourse you've no right to judge your fellow addicts of different poisons.
Your most disgusting habit is your self-righteousness. Your self-righteous opinions are a great crime. Your blind belief is a torturer and murderer, yet you sleep well with your stupidly named pharmaceutical assured you are right because that's what you've been told.
You claim that death is what gives you the right to control others. Yet it's your stance that fills the graveyards with capital punishments for making the mistake of curiosity and desperation. It is you and the support you give to failed policy that steals more parents from children and more spouses from their spouses. Yet you blame them because you think it will wash the blood from your soul.
You wash the death and destruction from your soul with lies and blaming the victims of poor choices and unlucky dispositions. The blood does not wash clean it penetrates your soul. It pours the misery you spill from humanity all for your false sense of comfort unto the scales of karma.
The people your policies break aren't separated from you. Every junkie who robs and loses their place in society is your demon seed. Every desperate fix gained through violence is the effect of your choices to make love with a police state where everyone is a suspect solely for their existence. You are cursed by your self and the lullaby lies of politicians.
No wonder you need your "medicine"to sleep, to keep the edges of your consciousness away from your sanity, to fuck your ugly rotted love of a wife. Some part of you knows that you are the monster.
© Copyright 2016 Robert Owen. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Science Fiction
Short Story / Humor
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