Watcher

You, with your unfortunate skill for poetry,
And I, who can only recycle words,
Both watch the present become past,
All while Saint Anthony stands on his head.

I talk of my drugs, you obsess about yours
While despising me for referring to mine as such
Comparing addiction to that which causes it.
We two only speak of our quicksand in different terms.

Devils play out scenes
And I can’t help but watch
While you must dive in
And thus you are watched.

You push me away into void
And an object put in motion
Cannot be stopped in space
And all is fair on Venus and Mars.