The Snake Has More For Sale Than Apples

I asked an addict a question,
He was a man trying to get clean,
Of the largest struggle of his cession,
He smiled as he said so serene:
“Every day I fear that I’ll relapse,
That my vice’s allures are too strong.
And despite all my progress I’ll collapse,
And slide back into doing me wrong.”
I asked how there was still temptation,
For something that near ruined his life.
“No kiss is sweeter than Damnation’s,”
He said, “And my memories with her are rife.”
He had little shame in his honesty,
He seemed unafraid to tell all.
I told him I was impressed by his lack of modesty,
He said to lie of his addictions would only prove him as their thrall.
“What was your vice of choice” I ask.
He looks back at me and said “Love,
For I kept it close to use like a flask,
And it kept me warm inside like a glove.”      There was a moment of silence
As I looked into this man’s eyes,
Which were wells of stoic sadness
Worn openly as he opted out of disguise.
There was fear for him before I knew
What gave this man his high,
But lusts for love often grew
And could never be denied.
I walked away from the mirror,
Fearing for the man’s relapse,
But the moment he tried to get clean it was clear,
That he never stood a chance.

The Snake Has More For Sale Than Apples

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