this fucking sucks. big poopybutts. this will get edited and changed a lot.
when i first arrived in this place, i was so sure that i was ready,
i laid down maps to plot my path but couldn't keep the pencil steady.
i'm forever grabbed by callous hands when i'm reaching out for guidance
they take me in and taught me their methods to bolster my over-reliance.
i suppose that i'm fed up with stomach pumps and modern psychiatry,
the significant effort of my best intentions rotted away by anxiety.
each of my fists will stay clenched as the monthly budget of drug addicts,
as tightly as ex-girlfriends did, dragging the blades along their wrists.
i think i've had enough of watching friends die to methamphetamine
and stripping flesh in order feed the gnashing teeth of the war machine.
i've lost count of the amount times i've mistaken comfort for discontent,
i hope i'm there when the penny drops because i need the cash to pay rent.
i'm in over my head, drowning in the failing throes of this fascism
but if the bourgeoisie had their way, i'd be throwing copper at alcoholism.
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