Razor's Edge

It sits on the razor's edge,
A tear, crimson within itself.
I sit there, constantly reminded of you.
This was our thing,
To be sullen and sleep together,
To be nothing but vomit and meth,

Saturating in this sunlight,
A vibrant relief for the fatigue that overdose brings.
You're getting clean, but I never will.
I've come to terms that I am nothing but lies.
I've come to terms with the tears
That come screaming out of my eyes
When I hold that needle to my veins.

Now I walk down the road,
Holding only myself as I remember it was once you.
You're in rehab, I hope.
I hope getting clean was worth losing me.
I hope you're happy living while I sit here and die,
Bit by bit as I pick at my arms
And light up every chance I get.

Two years ago I didn't know what weed was,
Much less chew and blow.
Yet here I am with a rolled up ten and a mirror.
I push the coke off and stare into my eyes.
Well, if you can call dark sockets eyes.
I scream at myself for being so stupid.
I break my needle and I throw the mirror.
The shatters sparkle as they fall to the floor like snow or sparkles.

I don't want to be clean, I just want more and more.
I don't care who I have to steal from or beat up.
I just want another line or another bowl.
I just want another day I don't throw up or cry.
I'm sick of standing in a puddle of bloody vomit soaked into my carpet.
No, I don't want to be clean, I want to more.
I want to take a shower and think,
I want to take a shower and let the stench of dope rush off with the water.
If it doesn't come off, I'll cut it out of my blood,
And let it sit on the edge of the razor.