Addiction
Who’s in charge of the Addict Olympics?
Gold medals for coffee, meth, and mirror-gazing, I presume?
“I’m no addict,” you say, clutching your third cup of denial.
But who’s counting, really? Not you, clearly.
Katherine’s caffeinated, Andy’s running (from what, we don’t ask),
Zane’s arms are a blur, fapping like a confused bird.
Skylar’s liver sends its regards, while Jill’s web of lies is more tangled than her earbuds.
Corey, stop winking at yourself—it’s getting weird.
Lilly, sweet as sugar, sharper than a candy cane,
Billy’s into meth (which is… a choice).
Freddy’s lost in verses (someone throw him a thesaurus),
And Lars—well, Lars is… *exploring* hobbies.
Tina’s smoke signals are getting less subtle,
Gyles, please, for the love of God, close TikTok before your boss notices.
Sophie and Ella? Still glued to their screens,
Looking for meaning or just memes? Who can tell?
So who’s the real judge of vices?
Not you, Captain Sanctimony, perched high on your throne of virtue.
Go on, feed your own little craving— And kindly leave us to ours.
Now, if you’ll excuse me,
I’ve got some poetry to overthink.