Saying “drugs will **** you one day” doesn't do anything but keep me popping.
I love to push my luck and see how close I can get to dying and I don’t see a point in stopping.
I believe I deserve to be foggy, on the brink of death, completely crazy, and always getting lit.
I believe this must be punishment for being me and I don’t want any help. So quit trying to fix it.
I love the way my soul is aching when the rest of me gives in.
I push a little further until I have one leg in the coffin.
Abandon the ship, everyone evacuate, there’s no wind in my sail.
Promise you’ll remember who I used to be when I’m dead, locked away, or stuck in jail.