The Downward Spiral.

Angel dust and blood flowing from my nose
fumes from my belly, oozing through my pores,
the darkness in my rotting lungs
a reminder of my date with the reaper.

kill thyself, lest thine be killed
father awaits my bleeding soul
regardless of the heathen I’ve been,
when am dying slowly, I feel whole

Angel dust and needle pricks,
numbing soul and killing thoughts
toxic spirits and suicide sticks,
ease my pain, take me quick.

All these vices, all these tricks
just to feel something else for a moment
can’t do it otherwise, no way slick
angel dust and needle pricks,
one last time, take me quick.

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