Skrewing Crank (again)

The rancid oder of urine foreshadowed that night perfectly.
The east-side was well known for the crack whore tricking three rooms down from my own motel suite.
A few licks brings a person right back to that same redundant way of life.
Cheap neon lights and stale sheets reminds me of home.
Pathetic.
Pathetic and completely enthralling.

After six months sobriety the only thing that is beautiful is the shit stain on the carpet.
Impulse is the desire that brings even a preacher to his knees.
Razor blades and one dollar bills only lead to homonyms.
Glass is perfect in any form, a sweet jagged edge to slice sensitive flesh, or a snowy powder infected with confidence.

Faith had found me naked, lying in the fetal position, discarded in a gutter.
Crying like a child without a family.
Fairytales accept those who need to be sheltered with fantasy.
But a boring existence in the face of a controversial god failed to enlighten me.
I was a nympho for demons ages before I was graced by an angel.

Euphoria is the real devil in disguise.
I can't speak for everyone, but I like to be fucked nasty and raw.
Who better than a straight shot of Lucifer to split one open for that?
It takes less than five minuets to forget about morals.
Two lines in ten minuets and a stranger gains complete possession.
An addict can deceive anyone but that bitch in the mirror.

Withdraw comes in many shapes and sizes.
It can slam into you faster than a freight train going ninety.
Like when a bump is staring into your soul and all you can do is shake then immediately get wet.
The bottom of that cigarette pack just ain't cutting it these days.
It doesn't take long to find your old stride after sucking a glass dick long enough.

I became consumed that night, in that filthy motel room.
Three packs of cigarettes.
Three almost strangers.
Ice, alcohol, and lesbian porn.
The recipe for yesterdays party of choice.
Nostalgia makes sane people do crazy things.
Imagine what it does to a borderline psychopath.

It didn't take long to fuck the man who guided me back into hell.
Naturally, I would deny it all.
Mamma would be pissed if she ever found out.
I'm back to living in that same pit I fought to crawl out of, same fucking shit hole she calls home.
I borrowed her pipe that night.
Had unspeakable sex with a man she had humped just five years ago.
Like mother like daughter.

I blame it on the dope.
Somewhere, buried deep inside, I wonder if that is true.
Dope takes away all ones decency, makes one ignore the consequences of their actions.
But that's what makes it so easy to manifest secret desires.
Perhaps I wanted to ride him better than she did.
Maybe I needed to hear I was sexier, I was tighter than that fucking bitch.

Regret is the pant size dropped and all the sleepless days.
The lick that would have only take an hour that somehow morphed into a week long drug spree.
I'm not addicted to the meth, or even the sex, but the shame that comes with being exposed.
You can't teach a whore new tricks.
Just like she can't forget the old ones.
Or the adrenalin attained from her audacity.
It's just a matter of time before she does it all again.