A Day At The Gallery

Poem By Cassandra Boyd

No pictures in the gallery, no where to be seen,
only local dwellers doing the drug addict lean.
No sculptures on pedestals, no special
lighting on the walls,
Just spider bags and pink tops, barely enough for all.

Walking the jungle looking for more,
killing time until the next score.
Got a twenty, you know there’s hope,
add a ten you get a little coke with your dope.

Gimme a drag on your cigarette.
Man, that shit was the best yet.
Your life is a roulette game, a spin of
the wheel, each hit you take
could be your fate you seal.

Always in search of the ultimate high,
you meet at the gallery, just you and the guys,
taking turns to get your hit, Oh man, this is
really good shit.
Body convulsing, losing control, hitting the floor
as your eyes role.
Your last breath is an inaudible sigh
as you experience the ultimate high.

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