Recovering Cynic

[AeroFX]

my style is cocaine, white powder,
mixed up and, none of its pure,
cut to fuck, so it damages it more,
i used to be poor, broke like i was in pieces,
on the wrong side of this door, roaming these streets with,
an attitude problem cos i was seethin,
i cant see clear no longer, i cant think straight,
but i'm stronger, the danger being i know this,
whats the prognosis, i'm lost in psychosis,
and i aint coping, wallowing in self pity,
stepfather raise his fist, i used to grab my coat then,
bail while i could use my legs, but that changed like the locks,
came back from the shock, a recovering cynic,
bout to have a relapse any minute, and take his family with him,
a pistol, gleaming under street lights like crystal,
i might miss you, but i wont miss my temple,
my veins protrude too much, symbolic mental crutch,
feeling the crunch, i lose count of them suicide thoughts,
they came a whole bunch, and now i'm ready to do it,
you gotta watch...