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Published: Feb 2011
You make think it relieves pressure,
Or bring pain to ease.
You will soon come to realize,
That you are so very wrong;
Whether it's after twelve lines,
Or eight hits from a bong.
It always starts with pot,
No matter how sure you are.
That's how it started for me,
And at twenty I was behind bars.
At times you may think,
That you can have a few drinks;
But a few turns into many,
And soon you'll be kissing the sink.
You lose some of your relatives,
And even more of your friends.
Before you see it coming,
This disease will bring your life to an end.
So after writing this poem,
I'm asking you now:
Do you still want to use,
Or make people proud?