There is tar in my lungs,
and ***** in my blood,
and if I had some money,
I'd probably be pretty high too.
And I stopped eating,
because I liked the way the hunger felt
and I stopped sleeping,
because I only have nightmares anyways.
It hurts a lot to think about you,
so I replay every single song
that reminds me of you.
And if I had any guts,
mine would be splattered across the floor.
And if I had any brains,
mine would be be smeared on a wall.
But I'm a dumb coward,
so I'll just write a ****** poem about it instead