Amphetaclear

Shaking, waiting for the bus,

we start smoking,

spitting,

choking,

lifting our souls up from the bottom of our shoes,

we choose to believe

that we are wounded in all the right ways.

We’re all of us fragments of disjointed souls,

twisted with abuse,

pawned and sold for the price of a spliff.

Remember, nothing will ever get better than this.

​​We knew then that we knew best,

that we’d show them in the end

when push came to shove

and so we slowly learned to love,

as the best of us were simply learning to play

it felt the same and so soon we became

jaded, before our time.

We aged as we rhymed our ways into each others beds,

we sent each other out our minds

because we couldn’t get out of our heads

so we’d run down the whole after Alice instead

and get stuck behind rabbits,

who taught us to tread lightly on someone else’s dreams

because even though it seemed like nothing at the time

when we were teens

we believed these lies

we believed that you had to either be insane, or be boring.

That you had to find something to say

or they’d ignore you

and pour you into the same mould as everyone else,

with 2.3 kids, and a mortgage, and mental 'health',

and be nothing more than a success in the eyes of your parents

and we can’t let that happen.

But while we were rubbing our eyes with sand

we forgot what it was like not to understand

and those signs that must have shown themselves

got left in lines that we wrote ourselves

and we felt that was probably okay

you had to be broken to play this game anyway,

so we’d lie in bed at the end of each day

and wait for the world to go away again.