Nightclub Confessionals

Jesus Mike lately you look stressed
What the hell is going on, take a seat
You need a load off, you can talk to me
But first I want you to take one of these

I lay down on a couch in an empty venue
Somewhere quiet behind the DJ booth
He breaks out a white bar, places it in my hand
Graciously I consume it with haste

I close my eyes, letting it sink in
The bass gets louder in my head
Sipping from a forty of Ol' English
Banging back to 2006, The Doctor's Advocate

I expel the plague within with every word
As the Xanax breaks down my mental wall
Laying waste to the problems of yesterday
I let the chemicals do all my talking

The lasers bouncing off the ceiling soothe me
Calmly they follow the beat grabbing my attention
I forgot what I was even stressing for
Slowly I get up and kill the corner of my bottle

Just another session in the couch
Just another conversation with the doc
Just another fiend who got his fix

In another Nightclub Confessional...