This is Me. Handle it.

I'm lost and i been that way for so long, i bear the results of these years and i wear them as scars.

Mistakes made and good intentions gone wrong,

a childhood defiled like soured milk on the tile.

I'm empty inside, signs saying I'm gone and won't be back for awhile.

They call me a wild child, jumping on high ways, blowing up your man's telephone wires, and now you be seeing that your electricity bill's gone haywire.

What do i do when my chest caves in? And this devils' at my arm injecting me with sin?

I'm hiding in my shell, a turtle called Liz, afraid to admit that I've fucked up again.

Looking for love and I can't deny it, but fucking all these guys is my way to find it. It's eluded me this far, but I'm undecided, should i keep opening my legs or stay celibate?

Being a whore runs in my body, im sure of it like when my blood turns red as it hits the oxy.

One hit, two hit, plus three more, i'm addicted to this heroin snore.

Four minutes, five minutes six times spinnin.

I'm sitting at the toilet spitten up blood while the clock keeps ticking.

Smoking the poison into my lungs, head straight back and pour tequila to my gums.

This is the endless cycle I'm running, this is the pain I'm feeling within.

Take a step in my shoes, you don't have anything to loose. 

Poetry Slam: 
This poem is about: 
Me

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