I can’t shoot up,
because addictions in my blood,
but drinking’s not enough,
and I’m starting to struggle.

I’ve got a cold right now,
and I’m hoping that every cough could be my last.
I’m never that lucky.
It’s Monday again and I’m on a busy bus,
hiding from the nightmares that await me back in bed.

I dreamed of you, once again,
and I had a sudden urge to be self destructive,
because knowing you is not enough,
and I’m starting to fall apart without the thought of something sweet to keep me sane.

I wanted whisky for breakfast,
but I went with a single cigarette.
I cried as I awoke,
but I only lay there, thinking about you for fifty eight minutes before I dried my eyes and got out of bed.
I was asked out by a girl who looks just like you,
and I didn’t take her up on it, because I’m going somewhere you can’t follow.

Are you proud of me?