I’m forever seeking that feeling of complete satiation.
Isolating myself from all communication.
Self-destruction is all that keeps me tied to reality.
Crafting my own corrupt illusions that are nothing but a fallacy.
The grip of these unrelenting vices is never diminished.
The distressing cycle continues until my life is finished.
It started with
Ice, just to make me feel nice.
Advancing to a psychological dependency was the price.
Once I decided it would be best to quit,
I realized how much I needed this shit.
With my exposure to
dope, I had found a glimpse of hope.
A way to stop using
clear, while still being able to cope?
It sounded too good to be true,
But I really didn’t have a clue.
It didn’t take me long to fall in love with
diacetylmorphine, there is NO comparison.
And now I’m living in this world of fright, needing something just to get me through the night.
I’m at the twilight of inviting another tool of decimation into this disillusion that is my life.
I’m enticed by this foreign vice, abstracted from the strife.
But how do I turn such vastly crippling darkness into light?
With a bit of
angel dustto make me feel alright.
And now I need this dust, but now I’m too jaded to fight.
The flurry of
ice, dust, and tarhas violently ripped me away from the notion of a mediocre existence.
I just cannot escape, despite my plastic resistance.
I’m so fucking toxic, I can’t even breathe.
Fighting sadness with disease.
Seeking only the sensation of feeling content,
These detrimental actions imbue me with resent.
- September 11, 2014