This is not mine:

This is not mine:



These torn, ripped and tattered clothes are painful yet real.
To an unknown it's pretty hard to tell how it feels.
It's been so long these wounds should have healed.
Its my fault this twisted lifestyle brought pain and anguish.
It's gotta be because they're living so shameless.
Must be my doing 'cause the guilt I feel is endless.
My strength and will to move on: come in tiny intervals.
Such grotesque deterioration happens internal.
Has led to a turning point of many options and opportunity.
One thing for sure: I'm not to fall into some doctors scrutiny.
Take this pill, pop that pill; they will make things better.
All I see are those pills making rain wetter.
I struggle finding sanctity in my own individual self.
That's when I gotta grab that bottle off the shelf.
Don't worry said to self, momentarily I'll be numb.
Just perpetuate the cycle of decisions done dumb.
No thought or real action of any dire change.
I just keep with the motion of keeping things same.
Pain feels great; torment the trick to hurt oneself.
So this time it's the bag from the shelf.
Such great powdered power in such small form.
That flour has eased me through most of my storm.
One spark, one tooke to entirely transform.
These thoughts, oh these thoughts: are so deliberating.
Such a presence in my mind while thier procreating.
I walk these streets searching for sanctuary.
My past discretionary....