I live the life of a warrior,
Doing time as if it does not exist.
Greatness follows me as I don the cape.
Grabbing the mirror of excess, I begin.

Stretching through the cosmos,
I take another hit of the magic dust.
Pausing as though I am untraditional,
I stagger to the table for another rush.

Falling into a haze, I ponder the reality
Of not living as though I am an addict.
Shaking because I have not had another hit,
I kneel before the God of a drug induced rage.

Not being as cute as I was,
I beg for another chance, another life.
As I begin the process, I take another hit.
After hours of snorting, I pass through the door.
The magic dust of my being takes hold.