Poetry?

As fucking crazy as it might sound, one of these daze I could just come round-back into life and then what the fuck, to survive in this crazy corrupt workd you need more then luck. Swopping being broke and craving all the time for not making ends meet and wishing till the end of the month there is less time. The first option sounds crappy as hell and to the second option there is a horrid smell. It doesn't sound like there is a way to win so I might as well give up before I begin, or is that the cowards way of doing stuff? I thought this heroin addiction made you tough? Or at least tougher than the rest, or does it just kill all lifes zest. How much longer can you inflict this pain, its no longer about being main. This thing has grown and bitten you on the ass and its much harder to kick than smoking grass. Not just in the body but also deep inside your head, sometimes you think you would be better off dead...



I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
NIN Hurt