when asked the question "why?" I reply by shrugging my shoulders why? I don't know, maybe I am depressed or maybe I am just sad, maybe I need another cigarette, maybe I need to pour myself another drink or maybe I need a half-naked pretty young girl to **** whatever has clawed it's way into my skin out and into the sweaty, dark room I sit in, so it can evaporate, rid itself from my being; no matter how much I smoke, drink, ****, the loneliness still carves it's entire existence into my bones like lover's names in trees, it leaves blood stains and leaves me longing for so much more