Rain drops, Tattoos, and Tears

I've been up for roughly thirty two hours. i haven't had any dope since around six this morning,

my eyes are bloodshot, the whites almost totally red. I'm tired down straight to my bones,

The depression that comes along with the crash is enhanced by the fact that she's been distant today

I sit smoking cigarettes in the dark, slowly rocking on the rickety porch swing we saved one night

She's thirty feet away talking to her first love on her broken phone, her words fresh cuts on my heart

She's like a flesh and blood metaphor for the needles i use to feed my self destruction

My demons are strong, hungry, never satisfied with the pieces of my soul on which they feed

I'm drawn to all that which will one day destroy me, including her, attracted to the things that hurt me

I wish i had a rig filled with a thick syrup like shot of crystal, so i could block out these feelings

But the chick i get my shit from is taking the night off, so i can't even get my hands on my poison

I work with her sugar daddy in the morning, trimming trees, hopefully a good night's sleep helps

Maybe tomorrow I'll even be able to get some dope, enough to really get high instead of just maintaining

Enough to numb what i don't want to feel, like the growing certainty that this will be the year i go to prison

I can't make myself care about the consequences of my actions, although i know what they are

Only thing for sure about this life is court dates and funerals. Track marks and criminal records

Im shirtless, i feel the rain beginning to fall on the tattooed skin of my back, cold like the rest of this world