Steemit Poetry Contest #15-Nocturnal Overload

The junkie shot up one night and ODed and died.
The Narcan used did not work for
it was not exactly from an opioid high.
Yes, he shot up that night and could not write.

Aloud he cried when the words came not
and clutched and banged and beat his heart.
But the bellows did not the rush obscure,
and reality hit when he hit the floor.

He knew not the I that was he, and forgot what he did want to be,
so he searched for comfort where eyes never could see,
to search behind the shadows great,
the elusive thing, nocturnal bliss.

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of the images in this piece.