A cigarette, music, and a toilet.
I look at the smoke out from mouth and wonders.
What do I really want?
Got a job, failed degree, failed relationships, failed my parents, and failed almost everything.
Not good at singing, writing, talking, dancing, and most of everything.
Good at cheering others? Nope, not at all.
Hate celebration of anything, especially birthday.
Looking at the happy faces and complains.
Wonders even if we complain, who the fuck cares?
The pain, the weather, the results, the job, the relationship, the problem.
Fuck the problem.
Who the fuck gives a shit even if I talk about taking my life away?
Last puff says it all, flush the bud and fuck it.