Tryna Be Better

Yeah. I was good for a bit. Hands clean, mind fit.

Even slept through the dawn. Till the itch crawled back, and I bit.

I quit that gear, swore I would. Week felt pure, the high was

good. Not the drug, the quiet make, till quiet turn to twisting fate.

Old mates text, "Come round, vibe." Next thing, white dust,

same tribe. Was better, yeah, for half a song.

Still playing right notes, rhythm wrong. Trying to get it right,

but not quite. Hope still flickers on the night. Trying to be