spear of reality rammed into
was 7 and among the crowd of odds.
the kid, riding the magical broom
13, i was.
charging up the spear,
i was suffering from, into the ones
who loved me.
fucked affection, fucked temptation.
crumbling in remorse, what was left
woke up, kid turned 15,
remorse turned into addiction,
addicted to the whites of cocaine,
and to the blacks of
lust breaks a man, harder than love does.
the break down, the gun shots were real,
the pain caused by her blind shots.
the full moon was burning black now,
i told some of them, to find me
a pit where i could crawl myself into.
days gone, i lost the last piece -
another year with gunshots
and falling chairs
and dying shadows
and screaming voids.
still feeling like, these pieces aren't enough.
i might fall, and break it down.