Thinking of my 99 problems as I smoke this one joint, Knowing 98 of them will be gone once I put the right man on gun point. Thoughts constantly reach me in different voices, all saying the same things, using antonyms. Thoughts as scrambled as Maynard's puzzle. Take another puff to the upcoming nights I look forward to not remembering. The more I escape reality, the more my screws are tightening. Frightening, half the time I don't understand what's happening, as I make others miserable just so I can smile again.
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