Needles Left to Rust

Chin up, keep going, give it another try,

Though they don't know what this is like,

When you're mother repeatedly screams that she hates you,

And having to sort through her needles and lies.

Ever heard your mom say your not a damn thing in her eyes?

That you're not worth her precious time,

She'd rather choose that fucking high,

Than have you always in her life.

Up late wishing she'd at least put you last,

Cause you know you won't ever be first,

And if you aren't as good as the buzz of that high,

She'll drop you right to the curb.

All those nights she followed you drunk,

Her eyes full of hate and disgust,

Cause you're the reminder of her past,

Of that sweet powder and needles left to rust.