Proof of Purchase

Spent the day throwing away my sense of self. Spent the last breath on old habits, death and a bottle of cheap thrills. It kills me to tell you how bad I want to change. It hurts the way I used to think I'd never have to feel. It's that bottom-feeder heart, the place I grow the guilt that starts this ache. Chasing old pornographics, pleasuring my static mind. Come to grips and I find only pain, dream as if I'd fake my way into her heart again. Plan it, destroy it, begin it all over again-- this isn't what I planned.