I want to sing
I need weed
I’m hungry for a dance
I’m aching to smoke
I’m dying to kiss a boy with artificially colored hair
I’m craving to be touched then forgotten
I desire more than anything, flora wrapped in paper thats on fire at the end
I’m here to be up all night and sleep all day.
I wish I was better than that, but I’m not.
I always thought I would be over it by now, but I’m not.
I was told I would die by now if I didn’t stop, but I’m not.
I kept thinking I would regret it, but I don’t.
I look back at old milestones and only see progression.
I’d like to say I deserve it, but I don’t.
I’d like to say I didn’t spend 8 years of my life
sucking smoke down my throat,
following boys with tattoos that didn’t have a mind for me,
spending hundreds of dollars on shoes,
clothes, hairstyles with staples, eyebrow piercings,
cigarettes, brandings and tattoos,
but I can’t.
It’s only another wish of mine, but one I probably won’t fullfill.
It’s so much easier to suffocate my pains
with the smoke from a wasted blunt.
While it’s difficult, it’s just as fullfilling to walk around
with a false smile and give off a false sense of hope.
When I know better than anyone, there is no hope
Atleast not for me.