He chases the high with his mouth open like it’s his last breath of life,
Running in circles like a lunatic, till he finds his next supply,
And never is he satisfied, even when his sweaty pockets go dry.
He’s the guy living under the bridge and doesn’t give a damn why.
My dad’s a dope fiend.

Like his oldest son who lies in the grave, he has no life.
He’s the slave to the demons, who submits without a fight.
There’s no remorse for his actions, he smoked those the other night.
And when he said he loved his kids, he was talking about his pipes.
My dad’s a dope fiend.

Though his body has hunger pains, it’s hard for him to choose.
Two needs, one addiction, the other is bound to lose.
He questions, “Should I buy a dime, or should I buy me some food?”
His thoughts are, ‘Eat for what? Get high, Dummy!’  My thoughts, ‘Yeah, I should have known.’
My dad’s a dope fiend.

When his veins scream and cry, he rocks his babies to sleep,
Puts the bottle to their mouth, till their stomachs can’t breathe.
To them, he’s an all-star father, seven days a week.
He even shows how he loves them by the wounds on his sleeve.
My dad’s a dope fiend.

He’s like the guy with the basket, picking up cans, looking lost and confused.
In his mind he has a plan, ‘Buy some beers and some smoke.
Man, fuck new shoes!’
What happened to the man who bought me presents, I think, when I was two?
My mom’s like, ‘Son, are you kidding!? That stuff was donated to you!’  Damn…
My dad’s a dope fiend.

Inspired by the father I never had who spent most of my life in prison and on drugs.

Dedicated to him and anyone who can relate.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  Joel loves to write and is striving to be a legendary poet.  He can be contacted at:
Joel Orcasitas #01404226
McConnell Unit
3001 S. Emily Drive
Beeville, TX 78102