Before I met her, I wanted to be her. Does that sound stupid? I wanted to be that ****** up ****** that did a bunch of drugs and always had money because she led men on and lived free and just lived life despite a daily brush with death. I was eventually, and I had an amazingly horrible experience.

I met her when I was 13. I spent a lot of time just "babysitting" her really. My other friends hated her. We'd come over and she'd literally go in the closet to shoot up and we'd just be chilling in her bedroom listening to Hole and being really confused as to why she didn't just use the bathroom. But she liked the attention and audience. This might seem cliche or mean or whatever, but it's true.

As my decent friends grew further away from me because I continuously grew closer and closer to her, I did a lot of *******, not nearly as much as I would later on in life. but enough to say, "wow I did a lot of ******* when I was 15" and at the time, it seemed like an accomplishment. Maybe I thought I was cool, I don't know, now I just think I was stupid and weak and regret being like my father.

Obviously, as time went on, I did ******. The first 500 times Natalie offered me it, I said no. I always said no, but she still always asked. If you know a ****** addict, there's something else you probably know. ****** addicts love having other ****** addicts around because you guys will work together to make money and get more. This will probably turn into what it really is and what we were really were, and that's a co-dependent platonic couple, but I didn't know that until just now.

The day I finally did it, my god. My god. My god. My god. My god.

I feel slightly guilty writing this because I don't want to glorify drug abuse but Christ, did it feel good.

We were downstairs watching Hedwig and she gave me the eye to start talking to her mom so she could go upstairs discreetly. Then her mom was like "where'd she go?" so I went to go check, even though I knew.

I walk into the bathroom, scaring the **** out of her. She had lines of ******, diesel, whatever. We called it diesel, I don't know if that's like a common name for it? Is it? Whatever, I said "let me try it."

Why? I don't know why. To this very second I can't remember what I was thinking. She didn't ask, and maybe that's why. But she put some on her hand and I snorted it. I hated the taste. Sometimes I smell it, and I don't know what it is that smells like ******, but I find myself saying out loud, when people are around, "ugh it smells like ******."

This is one of my catchphrases I think, and I am not proud of it anymore.

People always ask me what it felt like the first time. I remember not feeling anything. I remember not feeling guilty for helping Natalie remain a drug addict in her parents house. I remember her pinching me and telling me not be obvious, but oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that it was going to make me feel like a warm pancake that just wanted to sleep wide awake.

Sleeping wide awake, that's a good way to describe how it feels.

I tell people this a lot, this process of drug use, and how I ended up shooting ****** and kind of just ignoring that I was.

I smoked *** and said "well it's not like I'm doing E"
then I did E and said "I'm not doing coke"
then it was "it's not ******"
and then it was "it's not like I'm shooting it."

Once I started shooting it, I didn't have any excuse or cop out, I was just curious as to what else I could inject into my body and became that glorified drug addict who lived free and did anything she wanted and felt like she came out of a book or a movie or a ****** up story you only hear strangers gabbing about on the train.

I was that girl. Natalie was much worse though. But that didn't come until I was about 18.

I had morals, yes even heavily addicted to ******, I had morals. I didn't steal from my family. This was one thing that would not break for me even when I was maybe putting **** in my mouth for money. But that's not even entirely true because I didn't do it for the money, it just happened that way.

So I'm probably 16 at this point in the story. I'm meeting guys off MySpace with her, guys from rich towns that want *** or coke or ******, just guys who can't get it in their towns. She's ******* them, I'm stealing from them. We don't keep friends very long because they know what we're up to after a few times.

She also sold her parents wedding rings, I didn't even know until after the fact, or I would have tried to stop her.

Her mother was so good to me. I spent a lot of time at their house. Her mom always invited me for holidays, despite the huge family they already had coming, because she knew my home life wasn't too good and she just treated me like I imagine you're supposed to treat a daughter you like. She was also very religious, which added to the blinders she had when it came to Natalie. She thought she could pray the drugs away, the way she tried to pray my gay away.

I was absolutely heart broken and completely beside myself the day her mother yelled, "she told me what you did. She told me you took the rings."

I didn't take the rings but what was I supposed to do? Try and convince her that Natalie did? She knew, somewhere she knew, but she didn't want to believe it so I just walked out of the house and never came back. I cried about that for a long time because I loved her mother, so much more than I am trying to say here. She might have been oblivious, but she was the sweetest woman in the world and I feel horrible that she had a daughter like Natalie.

I met so many characters. Chris. I don't remember his last name but it was something really white boyish. He would drive 45 minutes to us so we could get him 8 bags of ****** when he paid for 10, but we'd pocket two. We did this a lot during the day actually. We'd get drugs for people and just never tell them you get a bundle (10 bags) for 80$, and they'd tell their friends we'd go for them, and they'd think the same thing. Why? Oh, because these were very white people that were afraid of the "ghetto." And it was the ghetto, it was Newark, NJ. The corner of Victoria and Garside, what up, what up. Come see me.

I never really liked Chris. He was a musician but he wasn't that good. I think he thought he was Conor Oberst, and at that time, he kind of looked like him. But he was just some rich white kid with an inflated ego and I didn't feel bad ripping him off, or his Trust Fund Baby friends.

I did feel bad though when one of them died in front of us.

So I guess this is where I'll start writing the "**** got real real fast" stuff, now that I've hopefully explained the type of person I am and how I got to this point.


Why drug dealers cut their drugs with poison and whatever else, I'll never know. Bad for business if you ask me, but I've never been a big fan of the business world, but this seems pretty similar.

Natalie is driving Chris' car and we didn't snort any ****** yet, which was weird, but I'm grateful we didn't. We bring it back to Chris and his friends, who are waiting a few towns over for us. They get in the car and are like "just drive around for a bit so we can do this."

They all have separate bags, and I feel terrible I can't remember the girl's name that died, I want to say it was Karen or something like that but I know it wasn't. She just rolls up a bill and snorts out of the bag and within like 10 seconds she's screaming and everyone in the backseat is screaming and I turn around and there's blood pouring out of her nose and it's all over her hands and the car and her boyfriend and Chris and I think her eyes are bleeding but I'm not entirely sure if that's what was happening. And I'm like "What the **** what the ****" because it wasn't a normal nose bleed, this girl was just, flowing blood out of her face.

Natalie is emotionless as always. I'm screaming "get to the hospital get to the ******* hospital" and the girl is like screaming "it hurts oh my god oh my god it hurts" and her boyfriend is like "yo man, what the **** bb are you okay bb."

It's weird that in situations like this everyone repeats themselves but I think your brain kind of stops working and you need to repeat yourself so the rest of you can process the magnitude of ****** up that your eyes are seeing.

Needless to say, Natalie didn't go straight to the hospital, she stopped the car a few blocks away. The girl died within 15 minutes. I don't know why Natalie or I wasn't held accountable for what happened, but I think it had something to do with me telling Chris who the dealer was, and this was the only time in my life I ever gave out a name, even when I was in jail, I didn't rat anyone out. But death is different and anyone who doesn't believe in being a rat when you're faced with that kind of guilt, is a *******.

Natalie got out and started walking, Chris got in the front seat and I followed after Natalie. He did take his friend to the hospital immediately after but Natalie was being inhumane, and it was just better she got out of the car because she probably would have driven us all into a river to avoid being arrested.

I really have no idea why she got out of the car though, she had no fear, I think she was just annoyed, like this girl's death ruined her day when it ruined my life. I guess making a joke out of it makes it easier for me to deal with, but it still isn't. For me, it was monstrous, it was desensitizing, it was mortality showing itself and I was like "I'll never do ****** again." But that was a lie. I found out a week later via MySpace message that the girl had glass (!?) in her bag as well as ****** and I have no idea. I have no ******* idea what why how. I just don't understand that.

Chris still came around for ****** though. And he still brought his friends, just not the ones that were there that day.

What am I, like 17? I'm still senior in high school and I have really ****** concept of age, and I meet this other guy.

MY GOD WHAT A MAN.

Yeah, I said it. He was 38, built like Hulk Hogan, and had the sweetest smile and the most honest blue eyes I have ever seen.

He also had been out of jail for a whole year before we met him. He was tied to a car ring where people would pay him to steal cars. He was in jail for 6 years and when I turned 21, I heard he landed himself back in jail for trying to **** someone or something.

He was nice though. I couldn't figure out why he was so obsessed with Natalie. But the niceness wore out and I finally learned what a creepy ******* he was.

He used to ride his bicycle to meet up with us and he had a lot of money, he just wasn't allowed a license. He was a construction worker for the union, made like 60$ an hour and what do you know, he was a ****** addict.

He told me how they get drugs inside jail. You get a girl to come visit you and sit down with you. You kiss them, like make out kissing because that's all you need. That like 4 seconds before someone is like HEY CUT IT OUT, and they have the drugs wrapped up in their mouth, and you get the picture. Just in case you were wondering how that works.

He also told me that I reminded him of his sister, that died of a drug overdose.
He also showed me his **** one day when he was at my house alone with me.
He also ****** off on my couch and tried to get me to **** it.
Then he tried to get me just to touch it.
Then I asked him to leave.
And then some other stuff happened that I don't feel comfortable writing about but I probably will another day.

He turned out to be a ******* ****** and I don't really trust anyone with pretty eyes anymore. But he was fun. Once he started trying to impress me, a 17 year old girl, and Natalie who was like 22, he decided he'd go back to his old ways and steal cars. I can't count the amount of porsches I've been in or how many miles per hour we went or how many car accidents there were that we shouldn't have walked away from it unharmed. He never hit anyone else, just walls and guardrails, rolled into ditches.

Seat belts, seriously, wear them. I don't anymore, but I'm going to start again.

He used to give me a lot of money. A Lot Of Money, just to hang out with him and watch him ******* and ****. I don't know sometimes when I think about these things.

Natalie did something stupid, she got caught stealing from him. He didn't mind giving us money and I think that's why he was so mad. He would have just handed it to her if she asked. So he started coming to my house a lot in stolen cars, then I introduced him to my other teenager female friends and it worked out really well for me.

He was gone for good and it was better that way.

I was still only snorting ****** up until this time of my life. The taste of ****** and the amount I puked from it was becoming too much and I was losing a lot of weight and it wasn't healthy looking so I decided to start shooting. I didn't even do it for the normal reason which is, you get higher, faster and harder.

Natalie and I are in a bathroom of my friend's house whose mother is handicapped, bed bound, so we just go there all the time to get high. The mother is also diabetic so there's a lot of unused empty needles. I help her shoot. And it's scary, she would shake and tremble and it was really bad. Sometimes I'd think to myself, "it's like your body is trying to stop you from doing it."

But if you like blood, watching someone shoot up is really cool. You mix water with the powder and, ew now that I'm thinking about it, what the ****. You wrap your arm up, so your veins pop up, put the needle into a vein and you pull some blood out, I don't know the reason behind this, and you shoot it back into yourself.

I'm really uncomfortable with the whole idea of shooting so I shot into my hands because I had very prominent veins there. I eventually started shooting speed *****, ****** and coke, which was too much fun for someone as emotionally unstable as I was, to be doing something so completely unpredictable. The first time I shot ******, I never snorted it again.

I shot Jack Daniels once and never did that again either. I figured I'd get drunk really fast, right? Wrong, it burned like a ***** and I started smashing my hand into the bathroom sink screaming "WHAT THE **** WHY DOES IT BURN."

It's whiskey, Audrey. Whiskey.

I met so many more people when I was shooting. I became friends with an entire *******, all the strippers, their boyfriends, their "daddies" and just, those kinds of people, and like I said before, I'll write about that another day. But that is where I met Janelle and Kevin, aka, Jack and Sally. They were these really gothy ****** addicts and this is going to be ridiculous, but it was so beautiful when they shot up.  

Kevin would be like "okay, baby, ready?" and he'd caress her arm and she'd wrap it, and he'd kiss her and then kiss her arm, then he'd put the needle in and I'd be sitting on the bed sobbing because I thought it was so cute, in like, a really disgusting "I'm clearly on drugs" kind of way.

I didn't hang out with them for that long, Natalie ****** Kevin and that ****** because Kevin and I used to make forts inside the house and talk a lot about nothing, but it was fun and I felt like a child, and I liked feeling like I was a child and that it was okay I was acting the way I was.

A bunch of people that hung out there eventually started doing ****** and I couldn't stand it so I had to get away from a bit because my guilt came back and I felt like I was killing everyone.


Natalie started setting up drug deals so they'd get ripped off if they went without her, she started turning on me, stealing from me, she had me set up for a deal and her dealer put a gun in my mouth when I started arguing with him about how he gave me like wood chips or whatever. It was not ******, but we still ran like thieves together.

She introduced me to the next guy we were going to use, his name was Pablo. He was about 42 and lived in his parents basement. He was an outstanding artist, I mean, I couldn't figure out why he was in his parents basement with the amount of talent he had. We used to smoked embalming fluid with him and angel dust.

Now, if you ever want to know what it feels like to be Alice in Thunderland, smoke embalming fluid. I went on a 4 day drug binge that consisted of nothing but dust, fluid, her

"Her Name Is ******"
The first time I met Her, I knew right away, She'd be in my life forever. The first time I met Her, She introduced Herself and I couldn't breathe. The first time I met Her...never had I slept so deeply in my life.
The second time I was with Her, it was a dream of bliss and happiness come true. The second time I was with Her, my eyes lit up with excitement and my heart simultaneously sped up and slowed down. The second time I met Her, I knew I would love Her forever.
By the time our relationship became something I craved and lusted for, I realized that I hated Her. I didn't want Her in my life but I couldn't tell Her because I needed Her. And I would do whatever I could for Her. I would steal from anyone I could for Her. I could lie to anyone I knew or loved for Her. I refused to be without Her and nobody would stop me from being with Her.
By the time a year and a half had passed by, and Her and i had now had too many dates for me to count, i awoke one day to stop and look down to where i held her in my arms, held Her in my hands. I stopped and realized i had forgotten Her name. It was something that had been happening lately, my memory just wasn't as sharp as it was before i met her. I looked down at Her and said, "um i seem to have forgotten your name, could you please tell me it". She looked at me and said to me with a twisted, evil smile and a voice like someone who had been smoking their whole life. She said "why Sean, how could you forget my name? Baby my name...is ******. And you love me very much don't you?" I looked down at her, the square piece of foil in my left hand and the pen with which i had de-constructed and now used to catch Her breath in my right, was the woman of my dreams. The black, oily, rolling demon to whom i spoke to, was the one who i had given my soul to.
But she was right, i did love Her and would do anything for Her. I loved her more than the job i lost for Her. I loved Her more than, realizing and knowing that i hadn't showered in days and didn't care. I loved her more than my guitars i used to speak what my soul sings, which i pawned, with no hope of regaining, for Her. I loved Her more...than the woman with whom i was in a 3-year relationship with and who i loved very much with everything i was. But, because of ******, i was nothing, but what She wanted me to be. I did all of these things just so i didn't have to feel the pain in my bones when i didn't have Her. I did all of these thigns, so i didn't have to feel the aches in my muscles when i couldn't get Her. I did all of these things, so day in and day out i wouldn't have to deal with my reality that was crumbling around me. I did these things to numb the pain of catching my girlfriend cheating on me with my best friend. Numb me from the hurt of her kicking me out to move him in and marry him. I did this to hide from the reality of moving back in with my parents and feeling like i was a child again. I needed her in my life to eventually **** all my feelings when, my parents kicked me out of their house because I wouldn’t do what they wanted and later kicked me out of their home and didn't care where i went or what happened to me.
My reality, had become my parents telling me, as i was walking away, tears in my eyes, curses in my mouth, and a ******* machete jammed through my heart, them telling me that i was nothing but a lowlife piece of trash and i deserved to be out on the streets, living behind dumpsters, and that i was a thief and now, since I had come back in to their house with her, it felt tainted and evil. My reality was, my parents telling me that the next time they saw me, would be at my funeral.
My reality was so consumed by darkness, and so consumed by pain, and just so consumed by the reality that i couldn't actually FEEL anymore and all i had in my life was Her. She was always there for me. To take away my pain as i slept behind a grocery store and was jumped and beaten by three other homeless men. She took away the pain of being utterly consumed by the lack of not being able to feel anything except for the overwhelming urge to just die. That after 3 weeks on the streets, and an almost 3 year relationship with my sweetheart, ******, i was so incapable of feeling anything, that i just wanted it all to end. Because everything inside of me that made me human and alive, had already died long ago, and She was just my life support, but i was ready to pull the plug.

When you are nothing but a hollow shell, and doing the same routine of: wake up, smoke H, go beg for change so i don't have to be without my darling, ******, but haven't eaten in two days, so i go to the dumpster where i have a buffet of half eaten sandwiches and old rotten fruits, just so i don't have to FEEL the pain of not having at least Her in my life. I had gotten to the point where i asked my self 'what's the point of living anymore? Why go on?"

And, my friend, it is these things. Life is worth living because after being clean i have a new found sense of purpose and self-value and self-love. Life is worth living, simply, for the sun setting behind the mountains and, for a few minutes the mountains are just a silhouette against the rainbow of colors that is the sky, and it looks like the most beautiful painting that nobody ever did, and i weep. Life is worth living, to sit in a park while you're going through the worst part of your withdrawl from Her and all you want to do is get high or end your life because, that would be so much easier than having to put up with this suffering. When suddenly, you notice the wind move across the grass and bushes, up into the trees and then hear a choir of birds singing, and for a moment, just a moment, you forget about your pain, you forget about your suffering, and focus on something amazing and beautiful and. Life is worth living, for all of the people who suddenly, came into your life and help you and support you, even though they didn't know you before, but don't care because, they see the potential in you and remind you to see it within yourself. Life is worth living....because you're a beautiful human being. And yes, you've made mistakes in the past, but I’m here to tell you, when-ever you feel like you're all alone. When you're sleeping on the streets, or roaming them to try and figure out a way to get a hold of that ***** ******, when you feel like you have zero support. Know this...Know that you at least have me in some way. Know that i support you as a human being, and that i would help and will help you if i can because I’ve been there, roaming the streets, eating out of dumpsters, wishing I would just die, I’ve been there. Know that, even though i don't know you, or that I may have never met you. I love you and have hope for you.
Because, you're more than ******, and you’re more than any kind of drug/ vice. You're a living, breathing, human being with feelings and hopes, desires, fears and dreams. YOU are a human being and you deserve to be treated like one.

****** Joe \ Hero In Joe


They called my friend ****** Joe today
A name I greatly dislike
Said with hatred as if foe
As if Joe ****** them
And cursed their air
A judgment not quite fair
You see they didn't know Joe
They didn’t know his heart
They didn’t know his kindness
They didn't know that Joe lact happiness
Feeling the air
****** Joe lives here…

A name that rattled my bones
Like a barefoot walk on sharp stones
His pains within exhaling out as moans and groans
And Joe kept sticking that stake in his veins
As a way to try and numb all those pains
Sowing seeds intwinted of rage
An empty audience to a lonely stage
No one cared about Joe
And so those seeds did grow
Vines that encompassed Joe’s mind
Trying to fill an endless void
With a drug that would destroy
Leaving nothing but fear
****** Joe lives here…

Hiding away in abandoned houses  
Slave to the drug that douses
His life in misery
I myself tried to help Joe
Regain his footing and low
Off he disappeared into the blue
Never to be seen again
But no one even knew
And nothing was really quite clear
****** Joe lives here…

You see the sad factual reality
Is that Joe was real
And in all actuality
He died on a cold day in December
Fizzled flame, ash, and ember
Goodbye to you Joe
And oh
How will they remember you?
Will you be a hero?
Will you be a zero?
Or will you be the same old name
Attached to your unwanted fame
Why couldn’t we have tempted the hero in Joe?
To fight for his life
And vanquish all foe
Maybe he could conceal a tear?
****** Joe lives here…

Why constantly repeat these words?
As if always muttered but never heard
It is to keep the memory of Joe alive
But not only the memory of Joe
But the memory of all those lost will survive
Lost to a truly gifted reaper of this earth
Lives otherwise doomed since birth
This reaper known as ******
Defeated all of the heros in
Those hurting souls
And I pray that Joe lives forever
As if a bird to sacrifice a feather
And that we can severe hate
From this fight against destruction    
These words are only but a minor fraction
In this war of attrition that has taken so many
And by the way…
They called my friend ****** Joe today
A name I greatly dislike

****** does that to you...

Phone rings,
It's 1 a.m.
Private number.
I know what that means.
"Hello" I say.
His voice is shakey,
He chokes out the words.
"Mom, I just got arrested,
I'm going to jail."
I took a deep breath,
Giving me time to think
Of the right words to say.
"Ok, I love you.
Don't forget to tell them
That your gonna be sick."
****** does that to you...
"Mom, I should of listened to you.
I'm sorry.
Next time I will."
How many next times,
Thinking to myself.
I can't count how many times he's been arrested,
And sent to juvie or jail.
We both knew this time it would be prison.
****** does that to you...
"That's what you said last time.
But you just keep running back to it.
I know your sorry.
No matter what,
I will always love you.
I am holding you right now baby boy."
He cries even harder.
"Mom I'm scared of getting sick.
I really want a cigarette."
21 years old but he sounds like a 3 year old,
With a high pitched whine.
****** does that to you...
Last time I saw him he looked 35
And probably only weighed 110.
Arms scarred with needle marks
Infected sores throughout his body.
Smelled of sweat and dumpsters
Where he had been digging for food.
I barely recognized him.
Where had my son gone?
He couldn't look me in the eye.
****** does that to you...

L. Mack

6/17/18

I love you so much. Too much.
I want you. I need you.
There for i cannot. Will not.
Let myself have you.
I'm stuck. I'm trapped. I do not know how to get out out.
Help me. Love me. Need me. Want me. Kiss me.
Throw me up against the wall. The floor.
Throw me on the bed.
Make love to me hard and passionate.
Look me in the eyes and tell me you ******* hate me and need me!
Take to me *****.
Choke me. Slap me. Pull my hair. cut me.
You **** her. I **** him. Together. Beat them. Too death.
It turned me on.
Blood
**** me
Guts
Cut me
I touched myself.
You watched.
Your *** in my cuts.
Needle
******
Veins
Blood
Sick twisted ****** up love.
I need it
Turn me on
Use me
**** me
LOVE!
Passion like no other.
****
*****
****** up
Sick in the head
LOVE!
Stab me
Slap me
Beat me
You did it
Lay with me as the blood of the wound leaks out.
WAKE UP!
I'm dead
Get high
Needle
******
Veins
Blood
To the point of no return.
Your dead
TOGETHER.
Together we lay here.
Here in this bed.
******
LOVE
BLOOD
I love you so much. Too much.
I want you. I need you.
There for I cannot. will not.
Let myself have you.
LOVE!

I walk down a broken street in search of my Promised Land,
I'm on a mission from God and my God's name is ******.
In the distance I can hear the gunfire,
I'm in a holy war, my sergeant’s named desire.
I walk past other junkies nodding out against a wall,
We're fighting the same cause, fighting against withdrawal.
I reach my destination, I talk with the man,
I hand him twenty dollars, he puts my God in my hand.
****** you must be God for everything I do is for you,
I'd crawl ten miles on broken glass for you.
I'd sell my soul, my family and friends for you,
If you asked me to sell myself, I'd do that too,
You can see I'm truly nothing, nothing without you.
But if you’re really God, you leave me confused,
At times I feel like I've really been used.
You leave me shivering when it's not really cold,
Unable to walk and I'm not even old.
You leave me penniless when I'm not even poor,
You leave me feeling beaten, aching and sore.
You take away my pride, my looks and my health,
Make me lie to my family, my friends and myself.
Although for you I have dedicated my life,
What have you done for me except stabbed me with a knife?
I look in the mirror at my own bloodshot eyes,
I stare at a man whose world is all lies.
I think about my past and start to realize,
You’re not a God at all, but the Devil in disguise.

His wild beard haunts my dreams
As I think about the loss of my father…
As a child it was Black Velvet and Canadian Mist
Once the liver damage was too great, the ******
Now, fifteen years after his death
The “what-if’s” still plague me all the time

If only we could have had more time
By the time he passed we were both shooting ******
Destroying any ‘normal life’ dreams
Living as though we were trapped in a fog or mist
This was the way with me and my father
All the way up until his death

It is a funny thing about death
Especially when relating to a mother or father
Sort of changes the dreams
And alters the meaning of time
A little like how it works with ******
One’s whole life caught in a swilling mist

I looked out the window and was confronted by morning mist
And I felt as though I were still in a dream
A dream in which I still had my father
And we had nothing but more time
No worries of disease or death
Living a life free from ******…

But I cannot remember my dad without ******
Only wake sometimes from troubling dreams
Eyes clouded by the subconscious mist
Heart struggling with the passing time
So much has happened since his death
I have become a man without the aid of my father

Thinking back to the wild beard of my father
Dark eyes set deep in my dreams
Shrouded with the cloak of death
Standing stoic in the mist
A slave to the master called ******
A victim to the ruler of us all, time

The time had come to confront my father’s death
I peered through the mist of my memories of loss and ******
And saw my father standing as if in a dream

you are my ****** and I am addicted to having you flow through me
but now I have to quit before I get hurt again, I am scared
and it is hard to detox, it feels impossible to overcome it
I wish it could go back to the beginning, before it turned on me
when everything was perfect, and I was euphoric
but now, my dear ******
I need my prozac back
and I beg of you to return, because I long for you,
my sweet ******
this infatuation, this addiction, this needle
this love

I am addicted to you,
and it's hard to let go

Somehow you folks might believe
That the sky...
That it just up and happened.

Your soul must be a story
A part of some long book

Your mind is just a dream

Open up your eyes
Look hard for a minute
Open up your mind

****** eyes just don't know where to look
Your ****** eyes can't see

Just quit asking why
Just quit asking why

Open up those ****** eyes