Need some bliss

I was dealt a pretty shit hand
Might’ve played the wrong cards
So I tried to fold
But no
That wasn’t possible

I need some bliss
Synthetic or not I don’t give a shit
I’m not an addict
I just really wanna make it till tomorrow

Every step I walk
Every breath I take
Drowned in a need for euphoria

It’s my fault
I chose this
I really fucked it up again


I need some bliss
Synthetic or not I don’t give a shit
I’m not an addict
I just really wanna make it till tomorrow

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Rotting Away…

As the rancid stink hits me like a truck, I realise what is transpiring. My fellow carcasses and I are getting carried away to our final resting place.

The road seems rather rugged, but I am uncertain as I am unable to feel and my vision is fuzzy. We come to an immediate stop, as me and my acquaintances are thrown down into our cosy little trench. I cannot fight back or scream. Will anyone come to save me?

Several nights have passed, and I am filled with regret and anguish. Larvae and mites are devouring my lifeless remains. I try to kick and punch but to no avail. But admiringly, I have my fellow dead acquaintances and the gunshots in the distance to keep me company. I never wrote my last work or met my soulmate. For I am doomed to be devoured and rot away until my head finally gets digested by a hundred ticks. 

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