Compulsions

The dreams still come and go
lying wounded on a beach
with shrapnel in my leg
my only weapon is a knife
And there is this golden fluid
a bag full of tiny bottles
it’s a promise for relief
the key for my survival
So i feel, yes i feel the need
to lock myself up in a room
squirt some morphine into my veins
to leave this cruel world for a while
And when i close my eyes
i find myself somewhere else
in a world built on illusions
where compulsions are expelled
Out of a need i had to use it
although i never thought i would
and before i was aware
this need was present every day
A golden mirror for my soul
will be injected through a syringe
slowly creeping up my vein
to hit the center of myself