The tablet on my tongue is tasteless,
And a cloud of smoke hits my face.
Powder is lined up on the table; weightless,
The syringe is filled with a murky orange; nameless.
Getting the highest is winning the race.

Scars reopened by life defining metal,
Burns scattered across my arm.
Starvation is the only thing I’ll settle,
Scratching is the way I mettle.
Sometimes, no one is there to stop the harm.

Tequila is being poured into a shot glass,
While my friend smiles and says “Vodka, instead”.
Serving our drinks, there’s a cup of gin; high class,
An ice cube swishes in a glass of whiskey; krass.
This alcohol is downed without dread.

Lust filled eyes greet me at the door,
I know I want this, but I take five.
The look in his eyes tell me I’m a whore,
It’s painful, but I ask for more.
And I know, these are the reasons I’m alive.

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