Every day I crave it more

To feel the smoke fill my lungs

To feel the poison going to my liver

Or the blade of a knife against my skin

Though I yearn for its touch

I have been able to keep the blade away

I have not touched it to my skin in months

Have not felt that familiar sting

Nor seen a drop of blood drawn by myself

Not in months, I have not

The drink is a mean thing

Of which I have a love hate

It comes and goes, and I crave its feeling

But now it makes me sick

And the cravings are simply torture

Doomed to want what I can not have

The smoke never stays away long

I can't find a reason to give it up

It never hurts me

Never makes me sick

So I let it stick around

Because I deserve at least one vice

Certainly there must be better ways to cope

But how would I know when I am completely broke

Who could afford professional help

When all of it's for profit, to benefit themselves

Who am I to trust someone else

When so many people have come and gone

Just like my vices that come and go

So do those I often hold close