your groveling up meth less than a dime.
as you throw your head back , to snap your own spine.
your eyes are crazy wild now all of the time,
you think you are normal you believe that your fine.
you've stopped even trying to walk the fine line,
really believing your cleverly continually running rhyme.
life is passing you, in a silent mime,
as meth rots flesh as chemicals dine.
its all about you , its all about mine.
owlishly watching as others pass wine.
you feeling your great , feeling sublime,
as teeth fall out and your hair is a husk, is a sign.
soon the filthy pavement your self inflicted racked body will sadly align.
as your flesh rots away within this lifes industrial brine.
QJD 2013
