I have images of life without struggle or pain, but the truth? - its filled dark clouds and rain.
I don’t need a crystal ball, I’ve seen my future. Visions of smiles and laughter but waking up with a suture.
The struggle’s for real and I’m not scared, i already been through hell when not
a motherfucker cared.
Pushed them too far to reel em back with a hook, numbed my only feelings from the drugs that I took.
Back from death with three shots and a mist, should’ve left me in the grass with a rig in my wrist. 3.
Aching for days… sweatin, wishing, even praying for death, all I can ask is for a little mercy with my last dying breath.
No time to wallow in that cycle of self-pity. I’ve been up, then down-and-out in this goddamn city.
Taken one, too, many damn losses, grind for mine or take what they toss us.
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