Pieces of myself dissapearing, completely gone is what im fearing - crumbling more and more as each day goes by, costing more and more to get high. Actually a huge fib im telling, fortunately my nose isnt growing or swelling. More and more cash just to feel normal, witout a hit or two i cant even act formal, always ranting about shit, never anything else and that is it. Why the fuck should i care, its like saying this bag ill share: not a fucking snowballs chance in hell, its not even a situation of time will tell. As each day goes by less and less sense i make, more and more promises i break. Not as if anyone trusted me to begin with, buy a guitar and put this on a riff. See what i mean with the sense thats not there, just a fucking pity i dont actually care. The only fucking thing i care about is smack, god dammit 10 years ago it used to be crack, before that mandrax, coke and meth, i hope i can come clean before i blow out my final breath. Jesus christ ive been fighting for longer than half of this lifetime, fuck me sideways but ive literally missed my prime. Wasting away as every sun sets comes and goes fortunately in my face it doesnt to badly show. Still dont know why the fuck im writing, still dont know why this addiction im fighting. Losing battle from the start - to take on this motherfucker you need more than heart. Something is missing out of this story cause this battle has nothing to do with glory. Losing myself more and more: at this time i would consider a blessing as being found dead on the fucking floor.
'I am the needle in your vein, and I control you. I am the high you can't sustain, and I control you. I am the pusher I'm a whore, and I control you. I am the need you have for more, and I control you. I am the bullet in the gun, and I control you. I am the truth from which you run, and I control you. I am the silencing machine, and I control you'
NIN - Mr. Self distruct
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