Crucified, by BlackieTheCajun
Sitting in my easy chair,
I ask myself do you really care?
Suffering in condemned silence, stoic.
A soldier I am, though not heroic.
All you care about is government
And I'm feeling pain that won't relent.
Being punished for being ill,
For needing to take a pill.
Don't you realize
I'm being criminalized?
Will I be a martyr for my cause?
A victim of these laws?
Will you do what is right, Will I lay down and refuse to
The pain grows greater every day.
And with every option you take away
What am I supposed to say?
I sit and watch the children play
Will their tomorrow be my today?
They call this thing "the war on drugs".
The President just sits and shrugs
And shouts this problem we can't avoid!
Let's get rid of opioids!
And every time I'm refused a pill,
I wonder if I'm the next they'll kill.
Oh, not with knives, bullets and gun,
Instead a policy they thinks the one.
to really fix this "opioid crisis".
What they don't seem to realize is
We wrote the book on prohibition.
It was a failure first edition.
So, now they say, let's try again.
We know more now than we knew then.
Opioids bring so much tragedy.
And with talk, and pomp and thought out strategy
they work to ban the very things
That keep so many functioning.
This war on drugs may mean my death, But I'll fight on till
my last breath.
Though with each day that passes I'm vilified.
And with each painful hour, I ask why
And will I be the next to die?
I'm chasing pain relief, not a cheap high.
And because I'm ill... You crucify.
|Posted: 2018-06-24 11:44:47 UTC|
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