Meditate... Meditate... Meditate...
Instead of Medicate... Medicate... Medicate.
It's about 8 in the AM, but 'eyes never clear for Kate'.
She's on a dosage that the physician never signed off on.
One Benylin and sprite twice or thrice daily gives her the feeling that she's sailing.
But to where? She'll never really know.
The repercussions of this seed she doesn't really know.
The god of addiction has struck her with his arrow that flew at a nasty angle off his bow.
So now all she sees is slow, all her brain aches for is that numbness ... It's at a stage she can't control.
Her journey into the 'rup clan was smooth and steady.
10 dwarfie bottles in a party standing next to 10 mighty carbonated bottle of drinks.
A chemistry titration where the titre value is how high can we go.
The indicator... The slow feeling knocked upon to the brain.
Here all the pain seems to go away.
Like the prodigal son going even more astray.
Never to return... As the journey to an unknown land has begun without the Sojourner even taking notice.
Somebody say No please.
The backdoor escape for suffering or psychological trauma is not codeine.
Yet I live In a society where disruptive behaviour disorder is termed as evil and demonic spirits.
Split personality disorder is ogbanje or mammy water.
'Well, wetin man wan do'... This is Nigeria.
'Coda bottles full all of the area'.
All of the time a young lad or lass feels caged, one of their peer passes him the lean... We slowly killing ourselves, Kung-Fu kicks to our ribcages.
It's now a recreational beverage.
The further they climb, the harder it is to withdraw.
Soon enough the camel's back is broken with the last straw.
Those pullings the strings of the addicted are the winners and like the Champions League final, there are no draws.
They are the clan, dangling the cheese of codeine in front of addicted mice.
They fail to provide a platform.
Yet cry wolf for the same minds they have deformed.
They pump money into the business on code.
Reaping in back, ripping us off like flesh off toads.
Yet, this is a story which would never be told.
They love us dead in the head just to get ahead.
Yes... That goes for your dead beat pharmacies who leak the ish behind curtains.
You know the drawbacks, yet with that same cane you flog our bare backs.
Lean would never get fatter if the clan close the channels.
It booms because they provide the funnels.
Yet they want accolades for banning said drugs, when we know it's a ploy to jack up the price of said drugs on the street.
More coins in their money bags, shamefully for them that's lit.
This again is Nigeria.
Abeg, do not high 5 the syrup clan.
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Monday 28 May 2018
Do Not 'HIGH' 5 The Syrup Clan.
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