I. One More Drug

You hear the weight, but not the pain Mistake the dirge for a hazy refrain These notes aren't smoke, they're carved in stone Each chord a cry, a world alone No haze of bliss, no fleeting high Just crushing truths beneath the sky The walls collapse, the echoes mourn This isn't escape, it's where I'm torn The depths I tread aren't laced with ease No fragrant fog, just dying trees You call it a trip, I call it the ground The weight of loss, a deafening sound Your labels cling like a shallow brand As if my sorrow's just sleight of hand This isn't a cloud to drift away It's the ache of life in slow decay No soft reprieve, no glowing flame Only despair that has no name One more drug, you call my art But this is my soul, torn apart A mirror held to a fractured world A banner of grief, black and unfurled So take your words and let them fall This isn't your escape–it's my call