What’s my damn problem.

Dude I’m fucking up.
I like to have more than I can chew
I saw that and I wanted it and what’s stopping me
It smell good and looks good
I want to leave so I don’t have to deal with myself
I can’t take my thoughts off of it
I must have an addiction
But it doesn’t kill me so it must not be as bad as I think people perceive it to be
Every time I look around its another one
Even some old one look cool
Gotta leave the new ones alone
I love the way it feel, I don’t want to think what I’m doing is wrong any more, I don’t want to tell some one I think I have a problem.

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