This Addiction
That rush.
That rush, that moment.
Why couldn't people understand the satisfying sensation of stuffing that shit up your nose?
Downward spiraling, out of control. No one can save me but myself. We'll think about it later, though, always later. For now, let's just get high.
Ah, that feeling. Nothing else matter anymore, does it? We're all just so insignificant in this huge universe that it seems pointless to even try. There's the 'normal' ones, then there's us; the artists. To create is to destroy, or so I'd been told, and destroying was one of my specialties; relationships, friendships, myself... How else do you expect us to survive with all of this chatter inside our heads?
Crush it up real fine, roll that bill up and snort your line. Then pass it on to the next, we all get a turn.
Oh, God, yes.
Oh, no.
The memories are all so fuzzy, so many people. Smiling, always smiling. Greeting everyone and pretending to listen, pretending I'm okay. Pretending that the reason I resort to these drugs isn't because I'm broken and weak. Pretending that I don't cry myself to sleep every night, and kiss the wrong people because I'm lonely and scared. No one really cares anyway, right?
Everyone around me is probably just as fucked up, that's why we get along. There's this unspoken understanding between two fucked up souls. But will I ever get better? Or am I doomed to repeat my mistakes?
Why couldn't people understand the satisfying sensation of stuffing that shit up your nose?
Downward spiraling, out of control. No one can save me but myself. We'll think about it later, though, always later. For now, let's just get high.
Ah, that feeling. Nothing else matter anymore, does it? We're all just so insignificant in this huge universe that it seems pointless to even try. There's the 'normal' ones, then there's us; the artists. To create is to destroy, or so I'd been told, and destroying was one of my specialties; relationships, friendships, myself... How else do you expect us to survive with all of this chatter inside our heads?
Crush it up real fine, roll that bill up and snort your line. Then pass it on to the next, we all get a turn.
Oh, God, yes.
Oh, no.
The memories are all so fuzzy, so many people. Smiling, always smiling. Greeting everyone and pretending to listen, pretending I'm okay. Pretending that the reason I resort to these drugs isn't because I'm broken and weak. Pretending that I don't cry myself to sleep every night, and kiss the wrong people because I'm lonely and scared. No one really cares anyway, right?
Everyone around me is probably just as fucked up, that's why we get along. There's this unspoken understanding between two fucked up souls. But will I ever get better? Or am I doomed to repeat my mistakes?