this infection

If I could only count the times
when I declared that I had quit.
To relapse is a sort of crime.
You know, it makes me fucking sick
that you are such a hypocrit.
I thought that you would understand -
I chase the thrill. I need the hit
but nothing ever goes as planned.

You say that I am weak of spine
because I need to have my fix.
I said that I'd be home at nine,
you said I'd better make it six.
I don't care for your little tricks,
the way you take and then demand.
When I am down, you get your kicks
but nothing ever goes as planned.

At last I ran into the pines,
the hiding place that I had picked.
I think that everything's a sign,
I glorify and worship sticks
and form another cicatrix -
my inner drama's just so grand.
I try to form my private myths
and nothing ever goes as planned.

It really was a little slit.
you wouldn't care if it's a brand.
I'm trying to get over it
but nothing ever goes as planned.