Withdrawel, and Back Again

As I lay down dreaming of tomorrow
My head pounds with deadly uncertainty
Why should I, in this fearful thought, wallow?
When I look at this dilemma queerly?
I look in the mirror, I see quite a sight
The face I see is my own, yet is not
I study my features, with all my might
Then ask myself, what is it I have sought?
I drench my numb face with ice cold water
The delicate liquid flows down my cheeks
My brain is done; it has lost its cotter
The delusional sounds start, the loud shrieks
When the lungs inhale, it all goes away
In comes death, dressed in dense tar and decay