Can you guys rate my poem?

I know it's not really GCSE-related, but it's for an important anthology that I'm creating that'll be a fantastic selling point for personal statements/uni applications in the future, along with the 3 novels I've written.

It's called 'Matchstick' and it's about the reality and effects of addiction of individuals.

It was a time long, long ago:

I had just given a close ear, I think

To whom used to be the most caring of my friends — it was

My first circumstance where I was indeed

Situated at our booth in what used to be our pub.

From across the slippery table, I noticed, I did notice

How my counterpart, who had until now

Agreed with boundless pleasure that

We were

Bonded by everything but blood, soothing, sticky blood —

his lights were on, but nobody was home.

He struggled, but did speak, albeit

Not habitually like you would probably expect,

You know… it’s rather difficult to explain

Because no words that I’ve learnt can describe

him then.

Me, with my blind eye, glared through his eyes

And eyes only. His interesting articulation,

As peculiar as it appeared to the prospect facing him

From the mirroring side of the lopsided table, was

As thrilling as a lucid dream that I

could happily never escape. I do not remember!

I do not remember whether he warned me

Or whether he heaved an empty chuckle, I do not remember.

A virus had entered his body like a sting from

A scorpion — he mentioned that one of his cruel freshly-discovered companions

Forced it upon him, wrapping his eyes and hands

With barbed foil laced with a crystal-clear acidic glue

And bridling handcuffs which yoked his dexterous hands.

I know now, and at this current moment which

Precedes my certain attempt to flit my white flag

And to slit a cut down my ring finger

to release my seizing spirits that do

dig my dreamy tomb — premature;

Unbeknownst to me, it was then

When my mate gave me the sick. I must

Say, I did plead for it, I couldn’t possibly

Be so curious and pass on some generous offer

to repair the pit scraped from my heart. At first,

I didn’t believe the diminished microbe to be evil,

Or at least as my mate did — in the

beginning, he elaborately outlined the

Passionate sensation it evoked that

Swam freely without intervention throughout him

however he surely forgot to mention the sure

fact

That it powered a hidden engine within

that served its sole purpose while running

indefinitely: to turn his wheels again and

Again to launch him past his obstacles, all during

the bat of an eye.

I don’t

need

to say anything

do I?

about how I turned out

well, it’s not my fault

I’ll tell you one thing, though

you knew he was gonna give you that virus!

It feels like there is no God

ok, maybe it was on me, I guess

And there is merely a devil fastened upon my shoulder

just gotta deal with it, no end in sight no more

I have been engineered to quench a futile lust

sprouted from shallow roots to a full bloom of mistletoe, yet

with yielding indulgence

The object, the… thing

what was it called again? our cherished bond?

envelops me, turning me outside in

Leaving only a steamed lens;

It feeds on the gullible from the

Core outwards, like an aphid consuming

A juicy, full-grown watermelon:

This painful passion now nevertheless adds

to my dirty syndrome.

The vision was clear like one-way glass

and I wish I could stay back how it was…

Dreams like that are rare.