I am alone

It hits me when I go out to the porch for a cigarette 

Each drag I take is a miserable attempt to fill the overwhelming void I feel in my chest 

As if the smoke could somehow replace the tender love I yearn so deeply for

As if the smoke filling my lungs could also fill my heart 

What a fraught pursuit;

To try to fill my loneliness, to try to convince myself that I can feel anything but unyielding pain

Einstein's definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results

Am I insane for so desperately trying to fill the hole in my chest with meaningless vices and material things? 

Would it be any different if I didn't?

Would I be any different if I didn't?

I'll never know, for this is the only thing that will never leave me