He stared into the mirror at his unshaven face. He was 18 years old yet he looked like an old man. His cheeks were sunken because of a lack of good nutrition, and his eyes looked like a road map, with dark lines under them.
"What am I doing with my life!" Deep in thought, he walked back to his room and picked up his still‑opened notebook from the bed, and began to read the poem he had written only days before. But as he read it, it was as though he could hear a sinister voice speak to him through it. The voice said:
Behold my friend! I am heroin,
Known by all as destroyer of men,
From whence I came no one knows,
A far‑off land where the poppy grows.
I came to this country without getting caught,
And since that day I've been hunted and sought,
Whole nations have gathered to plot my destruction,
They call me the breeder of crime and corruption.
More potent than whisky, more deadly than wine,
Yes I am the scourge of all mankind!
My little white grains are nothing but waste,
I'm soft and fluffy‑‑but bitter to taste.
I'm white, I'm brown, but deadly to use,
For once you're addicted, I really abuse,
I'm known in China, Iraq and Iran,
I'm welcome in Turkey and I've been to Japan.
In cellophane bags I make my way,
To men in office and children at play,
From heads of state to lowest bum,
From richest estate to lowest slum.
I take a rich man and make him poor,
Take a maiden and make her a whore,
Make a beautiful woman forget her looks,
And make the student forget his books.
I can make you steal, borrow and beg,
Then search for a vein in your arm or your leg,
I'm known to the selfish and those filled with greed,
All faceless regardless of religion or creed.
My gift is illusion, my blessing is fake,
Death and destruction follow in my wake,
I'm the kiss of death to all who I touch,
I start as a gift and remain as a crutch.
My friends are many but I'm loyal to none,
I come to destroy and my work must be done,
Some think of me as merely a toy,
But wise men know I maim and destroy.
Run from me if you wish‑‑I will never give chase,
For sooner or later you'll return for your taste,
Once in your bloodstream you'll think me not mean,
You'll praise me as master, then nod in a dream.
You've heard my warning but will take no heed,
Put your foot in the stirrup‑‑mount this great steed,
Get right in the saddle and hold on real well,
For the white horse 'heroin' will take you to Hell.
To be continued.