I was born dead to another time. The lime of time rhymes with nine.
And where am I to three the mind? What are you telling me, the depth of death is not a joke you say? Live fast die slow is what you say, drinking and shooting up, snorting coke off your mirror every night. Rockstar excesses when the rest of the world prefers Monster. Sometimes I wish to burn out and fade away like you. Maybe you should put that in your suicide note?
But you won’t leave a suicide note because you have no idea when the heroin and vodka smoothies are going to kill you. The gaggled masses are watching you die, refusing to offer you help. You’re a spectator sport to them, not a human being. The pockmarks litter your tattooed arms.
Baby, you’re spiralling down.