Walk in cocky. Shot.

High heels on. Thot.

Dancin’ Queen. Hot.

Feelin’ good? Not.

Find a man. Done.

Take him home. Fun.

Regret sinks in. Sun.

Times I’ll text? None.

Strangers in my bed, whiskey clouding up my head, mother fuckers always pushin’ me to the point of wishin’ death.

Pills down my throat. Faded.

A woman broken down. Jaded.

A rapist on my mind. Hate it.

Game called love. Played it.

Pukin’ up last night. Dying.

Life in ruins. Crying.

If I said that I’m ok. Lying.

Marijuana in my lungs. Flying.

This recklessness is gettin’ me, fucking up my remedy, every time I think I’m good another person smothers me.

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