Im surrounded by empty cigarette packs
       and you think that you're a poet
I drink because its the only way I know how
To deal with this reality
       and you think that you're a poet


I'll be dead-broke and dying
No hope left
Still ******* words that mean nothing
And have hope
Without the slightest clue as to why
God
Or just man would understand
that there is a happy end
When there isn't

I'll have hope
Even after I lose and the implode
and you think that you're a poet

How am I alive?