Drug Seeking Behavior

I am only mad North-Northwest; When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
You can cure the addiction but there's no end to drug seeking behavior, except the grave.
Like rabid dogs, we roam the streets looking for something to make us more primitive.
You can't get it at the Seven-Eleven.
There are no sunny corporate logos, only shady, dying people.
Drug seeking behavior can get you found in an isolated gravel pit with fingers cut off.
There are so many means to the same end: Hash, the needle, magic mushrooms.
If nothing else, liquor will do.
And the next day, our brains are rotten and destroyed.
So why do we do it?
Is it a character deficiency?
No, we are the new savages, primitive peoples, the hollow men.
Everybody needs some kind of security blanket; It can be a home, a loving wife or a role in society.
But if you lose in the corporate warfare, you commit ritual self slaughter.
It can start on your break with a cigarette, an admission that your lungs aren't worth much. And, as the case worsens, it's liquor, weed, shrooms, PCP.
Choose your weapon; you can wrench it in your guts for an amazingly long time.