Ephemeral... quick to leave
Those are most mornings for me.
I awake now, not even bothering
To look at what occurred during the night.
All that would bring would be
The guilt, that biting guilt,
That I try to escape by finding these girls.
Its such a strange cycle
Very give and take.
For moments I feel truly alive
The next moment in a grave.

Perhaps I'm looking in all the wrong places.
But, perhaps, perhaps just maybe
I'm looking in the right places
And simply have not found that niche,
The one
I'm waiting for.

I'm not sure,
Maybe I will never be sure.
Too locked in now
I'll never return.