From my ceiling I hear thumping
Of your bed crashing down on your floor
As she moans in my nightmares,
And in reality’s moonlight you tell me,
Amidst twirling smoke, that you don’t even like her.
And although my role upon our stage
Is not to be an unbiased mother,
I can’t help but cry that you are
Mindlessly ******* with a steel-coated heart.
I am happy for what has changed and that
You no longer are in a haze of drugs each and every day
But it isn’t because you’ve gotten better
It’s just that you’ve switched drugs.
And, Jesus Christ, I don't love you anymore
But somehow I still wish I could be your drug.