pressure on my lungs to ease:
big intake, big release--
the cold just tightens them, you see,
smoke rusts the paths in which I breathe;
it helps my heart, it's calming,
I plead
hopelessly convincing
myself to believe
that I'm not who I've come to be.

I wonder how long
Until someone catches on
To how addicted to
Everything I am.

Each drug I take,
and lie I tell,
Each guy I bang,
and time I steal

A sick flush of dopamine
Erupts through me
Embracing my veins in
Everlasting euphoria.

I wonder if this makes me
A bad person;
Indulging in sin,
sure floats my boat--
does that mean I win?

crooked frames
that hold no shame
enlighten homes
haunted with strain
where conflict walks
behind the scenes;
where no one's ever watching.

my dying wish
is to feel something.
anything.
please?