Psychopath. Pyromaniac. Fake laugh. Body cast. Nicotine patch. Can I make it last? You mean no. You say yes. First place? Second best. High fashion? Worst dressed. Never right. Always wrong. Trying to find my voice. But I got no song. What's up, Donkey Kong? And when I still can't get it right, I try to remember —Brad Pitt. The club. Fight. I might, just win. Fuck this life of sin.
I was walking a tightrope between my old familiar behavior, and the life I thought I wanted. Little did I know, it was leading me to death. The new unknown path promised hope, but I didn't want hope. I wanted to get high. It was a dangerous time. In spite of my wishful attempts to better myself, one part of me —obviously the more influential part, always succeeded in undermining my good intentions.
Sadness sweeps through your buzzing brain, as you count what pills are left in your stash. 19. You’d have enough for today and tomorrow, but in all reality, you needed more. Tonight though, you had other plans.
Morals. What’s that? I was a junkie with survival on my mind. Sigh —there was nothing I wouldn’t do to get high. At the time, this girl had no name, even though I had a shit ton of pain. I know it makes no sense, but that's how I liked it. I know it's not fair; so I try not to care. Anyone up for a round of truth or dare?
There would be no real way of knowing then that I was about to create a storm that would soon ravage all in its line of vision. Everything, my world —up in smoke. Just when I thought I had conquered it all, when things couldn’t get any worse, I found myself lost, alone, and addicted.
waytomuchtoosay 