Curbside with a loose *****,    
Can't spot any itch, I brought my list,
Bloodshot eyes belong to the illicit,
And this ****** knows his ****!

Inject, snort or light,
Whatever takes to make the climb,
More of myth than vagrant,
I had an appetite but was far from fried,  

Of plight and the antichrist
Judith's accomplice,
I’ve bartered martyrs for fixes,

Never a thief, money always came to me,
Never dropped to my knees to please,
That doesn’t mean I am decent being,

A ****** on the rise,
In infancy I opened my eyes,  
In my youth I chose to ride in fictitious skies,
****** not fried,
A mind abused when a thirst thrived,

Curbside with the socially derived,
Deviants dwelling under lamplights,
  
The bloodshot eyes of paranoia’s plight,  
To escape I'd die, but miss the high,
Beelzebub's waiting for me to arrive,  
My toxic mentally,
Has this bloodshot belligerent,
Absent of Providence,
Lusting at the fingertips,
Indulging beneath hips,

Not fried but ****** prime,
Extorting my existence,
Curbside strolls,
To tighten a ***** I loosened.