thats why I need something else, you know

cause my insides don’t do a good enough job of filling

the hole. All the world’s blood in a single transfusion

wouldn’t be enough to quieten down the entity that

screams inside me

If only those hours in solitude could pay your debts

They wouldnt believe me if I spoke about it

anyway - the constant feeling as though you’ve done

wrong

As if your presence is enough alone for all the

world’s goodness to be overthrown. and thats why I

need something else? You know. Like pot, vodka or

house wine. Anything that gives me the option of

death or being so wasted you feel dead

That hole in your stomach that can’t be filled with the

mundane of life. All the love, the blood of everyone out

there, would not even filter through a single

particle