This is a good poem. It portrays the dominion of drugs in a life. It's odd because of the point of view: from the drug's. No one thinks, "...What if drugs had their own mind (which, in most cases, they actually do...and they give it to the user) and had a will of their own, what would it all be like?" No one thinks that. This poem displays the victory, domination, conquering ability, selfishness, self-absorbed quality, etc., etc., and etc. of drugs.
He doesn’t sleep anymore
He’s cursed with the illusion
That he can see through any door
His life of disillusion
Is something that he loves
He used to sleep
But he believes he’s slept enough
Now he creeps
Creeps into people’s lives
People that he sees differently
People that need special drives
People that need him definitely
Some of them are rich
Some of them are poor
Some of them don’t bitch
About his high-priced score
They don’t need him at first
They’re only in it for the thrill
But then they feel the thirst
And they long for the needle or the pill
That’s when he makes himself scarce
So that he then feels needed
He looks at their drug face
And knows that he’s succeeded