there's martini glasses crushed in your bed and lime juice dripping from your (martyr) wounds. you're just lying on the floor bare-boned and translucent, injecting yourself with morphine instead of the oh-so typical crystal meth. 3.2.1.shoot&repeat. candy-coated obsenities wrapped in a rainbow fervor (such a fucking daze). aids on the walls & syphilis in the bed, it's just a hotel of s.t.d.s. with scars in your eyes and nails in your hands, you scream that you're 'just jaded to perfection'.