I cannot tell you the amount of relationships I have ruined because I’ve been wasted.
The amount of happiness I’ve almost tasted.
I am always drunk,
always high, always have the good stuff,
always have the good time.
For a while I am alluring,
to girls and guys a like.
But then the novelty wears off,
And they ask if I’m alright.
I hear the words “you’re not relationship material”
And deep down I know,
But every Friday night
That same guy is asking me for blow.
It’s used to confuse me
But it makes sense now,
Who would want to be with someone
who can’t even bare being with themselves