what the fuck
what the fuck does wtf mean anyway

and here I am chasing the shadow of shared lonesome nights, kind of.
constantly gazing upon my reflection in little, trivial things, like door knobs, or ashtrays and whatnot.
wondering, always wondering, what the fuck am i doing here, crippled for every little thing, crippled for petty tasks, for everyday things, like:
go buy bread, and I come back with a little man hanging from my left shoulder, as restless as you can imagine it, its teeth sunk into my flesh in such an interwined maner, any given woman could mistake it for a third arm... if you know what I'm saying. and what I'm saying is that there is no any given woman for this any given man. me, hp, the product of zero.
And death takes it's toll off the fruitless and the fruitful alike,

meanwhile...

I'm just dying for a cigarette, one of those unspoken cigarettes that meant so much back then, that meant how fucked up things oughted to be... cause I was smoking... that somehow meant so much more.

tonight dies (it's always about death, aint it?) at one o'clock, but I'm alive and well?, not quite, I'm alive and half drunk, begging for some sense of reality... ha ha ha, no, no, sorry, jesus fuckin' fuck, no begging here, fuck you very much, if anything, some sort of request for a compilation of all those good moments that lay scattered in my past, promising me even scarcer moments of joy in the future...
though buenos nightos will always make me laugh, even if it's a sad laughter.

it does feel lonely right now, whenever the fuck it is now.