Damn gotta get me a hit!
Been a while since my last fix
And I already got the jitters.
Usin’ is pain
But not usin’ is pure hell.
Spend my days hopped up on the stuff
And it feels so good.
My nights are kaleidoscopic -
It’s trance-coloured, psychedelic bliss baby.
Obsession with the next fix occupies my lucid moments:
Where I’mma get it,
Who gonna supply it,
How I’mma enjoy the rush
And keep my lil secret safe.
The best part is I pay nothing.
Dealers don’t know they dealin’
Victims don’t know they bein’ victimized-
Everybody wins!
…Everybody but me.
I feed myself on fantasy,
Flatter myself with honey-scented lies
That make me feel better
And take my mind off the things
I need to,
But don’t want to, think about:
I objectify
And project
Anxieties, fears, pressure, expectations
Through other eyes.
Combined with copious amounts of guilt and judgment,
You get a heady, intoxicating concoction
Guaranteed to give you the ultimate rush.
Am I a masochist?
Maybe a little.
Cause I’m locked in a prison of my own design
Yet cannot bring myself to use the key dangling from my neck
To free myself.
Freedom is foreign
And hurt is my drug,
That’s how I get my buzz.
I’m so far gone;
I’m in so deep;
I’m down so low
That the low gives me a high
And makes me fly
Up to the sky-
I’m way up there like my own constellation.
I’m speeding like a comet.
I blaze up on re-entry
Till I hit the ground
In a smoldering crater.
Then I’m up again,
Caught in my perpetual
Crash and burn cycle.
