Prescription Dreamkillers

        Our friends are dying…
        All the fun and all the games are over, transforming into disaster, and are killing us slowly, gradually, with malice. These malicious intentions become the misery so many lonely souls experience every day. Every day forced to accept a life that seems so infinite in tragedy, and in this desolate reality resentment always breeds. In our resentment, we look to escape and we find escape in demons. Legalized demons allowing us to feel the beauty in life; to see it, to taste it, to touch it…to experience any warped idea of happiness because we’re experiencing a drought of compassion.
         Where does happiness live?
         Why can’t we find it there?
         We are told to find happiness within ourselves, but how can we with all the sadness of the truth?
         The truth is, most are miserable, unable to come to terms with their inner turmoil, plagued by a desertion of hope…we all can see that hope is waning and in short supply, only available to those whose circumstances allow it. But here at the twilight of our youth, we see only the hollow after shadows of dreams we once adored. Our inability to cope with our difficult stations in life has thwarted desire. Desire to improve? Improve to what? Improve only to struggle all our lives clinging onto an ideal that once intrigued our youthful minds? It has become almost impossible…and dreamkillers are no longer just found at the bottom of a bottle…they’re found in man’s own creation. We have entered a period of synthetic murder…masked behind a doctor’s prescription. Minds who’ve lost their sense of direction thirst for medicated reprieve, and for fuck’s sake, they can get it. Without a second notice…it’s no longer just trying to experience the vices of youth, it’s needing them to function when misery is the only company around. And no longer does a tragic life require a needle in the arm or a rolled dollar bill to fill a void of loneliness, pills prescribed by multi-million dollar pharmaceutical companies can do that for them. It seems like the perfect fix…the perfect legal fix…found in drugs whose vicious claws do not appear so evident. We’re popping pills, not doing dope, so maybe misery can live forever in the shadows of a harmless high? 25 a pop, 50 a pop, 100 bills to quench your despair with only your soul to offer.
         And it will be offered…
         And apathy will soon follow…
         When these demons start to bear their fangs, and eat away at our dreams.
         We’re no longer dreaming to self-fulfillment…
         We’re dreaming for drugs.
         We’re dreaming for a euphoria only a pill can give…
         And in that dream we sacrifice everything else. This is a trick on God and he is not amused, if we’re gonna live only to escape, then why shouldn't He take everything else away? He will,
        And with burning synapses, our souls are lost to apathy.
         A druggie doesn’t need a soul…A druggie needs a quick fix to delay dying.
         And we are dying.
         
         Who is left for the after math? Those who’s hearts can’t shake monstrous effect of our friends’ destruction. We see it happen, we NEED it to stop, but simply talking has become archaic at best. To those who found their love in overloaded cranial chemicals brought on by the demons they embrace, talking is only bullshit.          
         What then?
         Tears? Is grieving become so foreign?
         No laughter, No Crying, No emotional response…

         There’s only a need to flee, flee to a mental state of happiness God never intended us to feel…decimating souls and witling away at the remaining empathetic hearts who can only watch this war that is killing all our friends.

         Where does happiness live again?