Breaking up lines of cocaine with a razorblade,
I might just slit my wrists right now but death can wait.
Bit my lips with such force that my thoughts started to bleed,
anxiety ate away at my insides until my chest began to heave.
Who is the master, and who is the slave?
Am I in still charge or am I now depraved?
How shall I address this visitor that's made me its host?
Is it just a phase or have I been possessed by some ghost?
Wicked as it is, it still makes my whole body convulse,
rapid cycling through my veins, it's taken over my pulse.
How do you turn me to putty in your palms every single time,
all you need to do is whisper in my ear that I'll be just fine.
Cashmere your caresses, velvet your weapons,
satin your sentences that I ride up to the heavens.
Just one look from you and I'd throw it all away,
you blow up my insides like you've got a grenade.
Some would even say that I've got it made,
but I keep burning candles at both ends;
I'm the queen of spades.
