this is where it all concludes this is where my dust remains can't pass this off as just a mood is depression just a passing phase? a twisted joke I have to do a clichéd sham I'm compelled to be a vodka-sweetened soirée desous the venting of the dark in me catching out my own presumption whilst swelling alcohol consumption attacks me starting from the eyes they hurt, but this man never cries surround myself with candles to burn something in me out my ceased release is building up my neat retreat become a rout but don't fret, a cigarette will soothe the anger in my head writing hate-words far too hard and peeling off the sheets beneath the page til what I wrote cannot be read. but I know I wrote. I'll Party Party how I want, in some circles 'fucked-up' is chic and if I spiel, my cut-up arms just add to my junkie mystique so jump right in and see my world I still visit despite it all I've lost, I've dropped, I've screwed it up retching in a stranger's hall.
