Old Dribble.

Untitled: Phone call after phone call, you’ll meet me where you can waste a whole day in a blank stare As the clock ticks you start feeling sick, seems like the higher you get it’s over as quick Fix after fix, dollar for dollar, scrape, steal, recycle the high only gets smaller. How long have I been at this week’s maybe months, just another junkie spending every last buck. Sleep use sleep, cop use shit. From the poor to the rich they would sell they’re soul if they had to just to get a hit. Who am I, I wonder as I wait to score, just another young man with one foot in the morgues door, a zombie with a heart-beat just waiting to get more. Who am I.