A mind of it's own

Until the needle breaks

What are we thinking about, are we only thinking of are selves, are we living life happily or is it a living hell. I can't really tell anymore, what is even real, heroin in my veins is the only thing I feel. These days the only thing I find fine is adrenaline, maybe poping some x will teach me how to love again. I wake up wondering when this train wreck will end, I try to imagine a world without drugs, but I know it's only for pretend. Maybe one day I'll look into the mirror and see that I'm a fake, but I guess until then I'm shooting shit in my veins until that needle breaks.

AN: this is for a story that I'm writing, if you want to check in out, it's called never to far from a beautiful mystery.