Late night drugs are no good.
It doesn’t ease the pain,
Like it said it would.
Bodies on the floor,
But we crave more.
The higher we get,
The more we regret.
Sleeping with strangers,
Like we don’t care for danger.
Mom I’ll call you later.
What’s the use of goals,
If all we do is make more?
We fall in love,
And we’re left on the floor.
Bottles up just once more.
Our young years.
Our wasted tears.
Make us better or worse each year.
By A.J.
Dailyweird 