Next In Line

It feels kind of like someone gave me a drug,

mixed for the purpose of stamping out love.

 

Slipped like a Mickey when I was away.

Slammed down the hatch and now all I can say

 

is, "I don't know why I feel nothing at all."

Head like a hammer straight into the wall.

 

Black coat of tar dripping straight from my heart.

Struggle for breath while still acting the part.

 

Things that I’ve relished no longer seem fun.

Trapped in a cycle but still on the run.

 

Live for a purpose without any goals.

Watching it slip away as I get old.

 

Talks with myself and with all who will hear.

None seem to understand and so I fear,

 

I'm destined to fall, then perhaps they will learn

I was next in line… and 'twas simply my turn.