The colour white Speaks of peace and surrender. But to me it is prison lines, crossroads And things I can’t remember. Like snowfall, Cocaine looks powdery and soft, But fall to hard into it You’ll be bit by a frost.
Food-less plates In the microwave, Lines cut so fine With a razor blade. These are what I think of When I see the colour white. It should honestly repel me, But it tends to excite.
Days and nights Spent high with my friends, Discussing the worlds problems Fearing the end.
Days and nights Spent high by myself, Wondering how and when I disregarded my health.
Anxious come downs. Tossing in bed. Telling myself I won’t do this again. Waking up and realising It’s too late this time Because I’m a prisoner to cocaine, So I’d better tow the line.