Painful Pleasures

Why do I sit up at night and find myself hell? And how comes I always knew pleasure was the fastest way there? All that feels good hurts to get to; alcohol burns, smoke chokes, most other psychedelics put puke in your throat, food will put in you more than a bloat, broken things you got to rebuy, money wasted ain't so cheap to come by and sex will just make you look down at you embarrassed with yourself. And at the end of the day, your body will be so ripped, you'll be wanting a spare. But your mind, it shined, for at least a minute there. Off on your travels, you picked up a bruise and story, an ache and a further four feet, so dig into the ground, and bury it there, when you've reached your destination, it'll be time you laid your naked body down bare. Tripping isn't for the weak hearted. The ground you're about to hit goes up high and down low, hills and valleys never so beautiful as when you see them from afar. I put down this sense whilst kicking my body in. I see what I'm doing, but don't see why not to. I can explain all the reasons why not, but never found a good enough reason to change my ways. They've altered, but I'm still the same guy who fell down this way and don't know where he's going; once lost my voice three times over, so many times now I don't know who I'm imitating. And even if I still did, I couldn't admit it. All secrets keep me from making a true difference. So it's in lies I'm lost, or maybe I'm just too dumb to see what's real. Because the way I gaze from here, there's nothing true enough to shape a life around. So these straws I've been grasping at, let me turn em and find something to snort; maybe some air so I won't have to come up, break the surface and find a shore. Confused I'll remain till sense hits my spine. Too bad it'll probably sit me down so hard the chair will need wheels. No more tripping then, wheels don't fall over themselves, just go over and over. At least until you rock the boat, but do it enough, you'll be a tortoise on his back with no shell.