The pit

Once again staring down the barrel
Of this syringe, feeling sick to my
Stomach as my skin begins to cringe.
An emotional mess, spirituality damaged
Physically beaten, hundreds of spoonfuls of shit I have eaten.
A reflection that we barely recognize
Having not a soul to sympathize
Understanding is not for those like us
Daily just wallowing in our self induced puss.
Having spent an entire lifetime, creating the infection, we have with our sickness built.
Normalicy we have ignored, at the expense of only ourselves,
Wanting a re-deal to the hand of life that we have been dealt.
We r the Lost souls, the degenerates, our meet existence, forgettable, void and irrelevant.
Doing everything based on whether it's convenient.
Visions of a life we could of had, of what might have been, start to play on the reel which
Starts this vicious cycle all over again..
Round and round it goes
When it will stop no one knows.. we just stay on,we r Stuck on this merry go round of shit
Wanting, hoping, praying for the final heartbeat, the final breath, that one lucky shot,
That finally puts us in the pit.