(Competition poem, it's the little things) dumb ass

It's the things that trip me up
4 days coked out and still able to work
Blood shot eyes, sweating, mind curpt
Leaving the job, tired ass smirk

Ignorance is bless as long as it my bosses
That paycheck already gone don't check the account
Dope dealer sells while wearing gold crosses
He leaves no matter how much I bitch at amount

Eyes, pupils blown no sleep for the druggie
So much dope receptors now clog
Watching the hooker so she don't steal a baggie
cant get that rush, adrenaline hog

When it breaks I hit my bottom
Collapse in my bed but not in my head
Shirt smeared in suet it's appearance quit rotten
Keep using like this my end will be dead