My old friend

A personal poem about the inner fight not to become addicted to Pain killers.

Hello darkness and pain, my true friends,
It's 4 am and just one night you could not leave me be.
Is there something special key that I hold?
Or is it random lottery and some into inner vice keeps screaming,
“Pick me, Pick me, Pick me.”
Hands shaking as I pick up a pill bottle.
Tonight will it be bottle one or bottle 2..
In my hands, I juggle them back and forth.
Waiting for a clear choice
Weak or strong
Power or fragile
No clear winner.
The pills go down the throat
Power wins again but tonight who cares.
A few more minutes and the pain
Just like my will power will cease to be,
And Tomorrow the dance will repeat
Because power always wins.