Bad living shows cigarette stains on the tips of my fingers and toes. Fresh.
It’s killing me. I would just hang myself if I weren’t cowardly. Nice.
Piss on my lips, losing control of the are between my hips. Cool.
Shit in my hands. Liquid dissipates as my mental state makes demands. Wooo.
Every piece of me is not pretty nor disgusting.
The rim around my body’s brass is in a state of rusting.
I’d be self-reliant, but my self is not so trusting.
I guess I’ll just lie down and come apart.