If you could feel the exasperation of a drug,
You would know;
If you could light the adrenaline from the fire of my substance,
You would know.
But you know nothing of the sort,
no addiction,
no life problems but breakups and too-tight-for-your-thighs jeans,
You know nothing of my life.
Nothing of meth,
but what D.A.R.E. tells you---
And by the way,
It's just a crock of shit of what they pledge.
It's all my drug.
The booze.
The meth, my ice.
The Sex.
Ronnie.
Ronnie's Sex.
The hits.
The slaps.
The bruises.
Make-up sex.
It's all my drug.
I'm definitely addicted, without a doubt.
Shout my name at the street,
They all know my name now.
I'm no longer the prostitute's daughter,
the dead-father's little girl.
The fuck-up's lil' sis.
Oh no, I made a name all on my own,
All by myself.
Oh yes, mommy;
I'm a big girl now.
The fucked-up guys want me more that you now,
'Cuz you all washed up,
and I don't give two shits.
Because I'm on the top of the world,
hittin' two birds with one fucking stone.
And I'm loving it, every fucking moment of it...
YOU ARE READING
My Monster
PoetryHer name was Skylar. And she was addicted. Her substance: Meth/Crank/Glass... whatever you call it, it still screws you up in more ways than one. But after seventeen years of trying to be Ms.Perfect in an unstable family, is this really what she wan...
