Will twenty seventeen be the year I finally get clean? Woven stories turn out different scenes. Same old story, same old druggy stuff, and lets be honest, who really gives a f*(k? Here I be, little old me, got loads of stories, filled with misery, carefully scripted, don’t empathise, its all self inflicted. I make the choice, on the phone, its my voice, you hear. So to begin lets be clear, I ask nothing from you or anybody here. Childhood memories, what can you do? The things that occurred are the things what made you, living with stuff inside you, I don’t have a clue. Not liking the person I became, but this person carries my name, inside deep down I carry the shame, like a brand on a slave, I will carry this burden to my grave. I had to learn to swerve so many questions, I learned all the wrong lessons, and this dark heart would lead me gladly to a world full of people just like me. The dark heart syndrome, all my peers, once they leave home, find their way, to the same playground. I am not a social worker but this is what I found, as I meet and greet so many people, same old thing force fed evil. Confused reactions lashing out wildly, hurting others that act kindly, till the inevitable outcome and you get tagged a thug, around this time you find your drug, and find your love, and the way to get your hugs, there is a God above. The first time in life you get that good good feeling, and in your head you think that life now has some kind of meaning. So for the next amount of years you are continually fiending. By now you realise you were distorting every thought even the process, and you see that life is in a total mess. Understanding that you allowed your pain and stress, no way out, no way to refresh. All that is left is the chase you chose, and the thought that you were not even close, to any kind of healing, it was all just an instant feeling, gratification to ease a little pain and now you are left stuck in the game.