i stand at the motel balcony
watching as the junkies
walk aimlessly toward their room
pock marked and helpless.
i light my last cigarette of the night
and think of how i
should be dreaming
of new stories to write
but i say to myself
there is no story.
only an end.
i flick the **** and take a last look
at the sunset before i
slam the door and drink
myself to sleep.