The sixth days of my 'kicking the habit' at home, myself with no special medication help not counting neuroleptics that doesn't put me to sleep anymore and loperamide for obvious reasons. Sure it has to be painful but I've always liked it better up my ass than seeing a fountain out of it.
I thought: alright, my run is over, everyone's run ends sooner or later whatever way it happens. And what I do? I start that stupid smart brain of mine to get some money borrowed (I always pay my debts back). It's just this feeling for a couple of hours when I throw away the syringe, sit on the floor, listen to alternative rock ballads and don't give a damn about anything. I fool myself telling myself it is it which has fooled me while it is me who's fooled oneself... Like it was this Angel coming from above to wipe every tear that I shed.
I've got two spare months. I want to spare them on getting high as a kite until I run out of money. Why? Because.
I play The Great Gig in the Sky and I think: we don't notice those little things that build the whole life and that they are what makes it worth fighting for. But I don't. This void, this emptiness kills me. I truly don't believe I'm going to get through the following years the way I should, the way I want. No part of my life is satisfactory and that's not the reason to take drugs. The reason is actually the urge not to think about this stuff.
Fuck it, fuck me, fuck us all junkies. I guess addicts are probably the all-time active writers in all fields. Well, a few more sentences to write but I write shit when withdrawing which is completely misunderstood but actually has a good point. Anyway, nobody ever got it right whatever I wanted to say.
I thought: alright, my run is over, everyone's run ends sooner or later whatever way it happens. And what I do? I start that stupid smart brain of mine to get some money borrowed (I always pay my debts back). It's just this feeling for a couple of hours when I throw away the syringe, sit on the floor, listen to alternative rock ballads and don't give a damn about anything. I fool myself telling myself it is it which has fooled me while it is me who's fooled oneself... Like it was this Angel coming from above to wipe every tear that I shed.
I've got two spare months. I want to spare them on getting high as a kite until I run out of money. Why? Because.
I play The Great Gig in the Sky and I think: we don't notice those little things that build the whole life and that they are what makes it worth fighting for. But I don't. This void, this emptiness kills me. I truly don't believe I'm going to get through the following years the way I should, the way I want. No part of my life is satisfactory and that's not the reason to take drugs. The reason is actually the urge not to think about this stuff.
Fuck it, fuck me, fuck us all junkies. I guess addicts are probably the all-time active writers in all fields. Well, a few more sentences to write but I write shit when withdrawing which is completely misunderstood but actually has a good point. Anyway, nobody ever got it right whatever I wanted to say.