A sea of our own heroin nightmares, left in the dust of our salvia dreams. We overdose on the fact that everyone believes our lies, and it fuels us more. We scream in our sleep and always carrying that knife. An alphabet of hepatitis races through our veins, years of abuse have torn our hearts apart. We udder threats that will soon be waged on those we love the most.
These heroin nightmares are of poor being, oxycontin is the poor mans drug to a heroin high. These salvia dreams are a cheap way to swim in the ocean in your friends basement.
You overdosed your lies because we eat them up as if they were food, and we're so starving. This fuels your intent to deceive an take what was never yours.
You scream in your dreams because the pills are haunting you, all those people you hate, all those people you owe. They know where you live. They know how you live. They wished you'd never breathe again.
That knife you carry is a symbol of your frailty. It's because of those people, it's these people that fuel the nightmares, that dose your lies in acid.
You've alphabetically straightened out your blood, but what about your life now? You've abused and used everyone who cared even a little for you, you ruined lives and recked relationships and you don't understand why I'm crying.
When you're alone and hungry living out of dumpster downtown, you can count on my stupid self, to help you figure your life out.
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