Conscious
And I must confess
That I don't detest
Brushing against
A drug-ed consciousness
The things we employ
For the things we enjoy
And the joy we receive
From the things that deceive
My mind is my alter
My body I slaughter
Willing sacrifices
I'll continues all my vices
And that's the appeal
The way that we're dealing
Because copings not real
And were all just dreaming
This poem is about:
Me
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