These cocaine naps have got me waking up
drunk.
Broken knuckles and scars I don't remember.
Drinking and smoking
spending my day in a haze.
A complex distraction for a complex problem.
It's killing me, I know, but maybe that's better than feeling nothing at all.
How can you ask a self destructive mess to not be paranoid?
All the nights I spend hating myself.
Every second of the sunset, every plant that grows I turn to dust.
Why can I only ruin this paradise,
too late to save someone, too fucked up to let someone love me.
This is pain.
Hating myself for the actions I do, and the things I don't say.
Blaming myself, constantly.
But let's do another line, and wash it down with spirits,
Drown them in substances and pretend we're okay until it kills us.
-J
