To be read slowly... with feeling.

I'm not sure... what I'm doing here
sat
no real thoughts
no real anything.
I listen attentively
to nothing
occasionally startled
by the groups
of drunks
laughing their way home.
I wonder if they know yet?

My beer is 0%
and it tastes nothing
like what I once loved.
I can't turn the television on.
Nor, can I sit and listen any longer.
My classical music collection
is exhausted.
My guitar is too loud
and my cigarettes are about
to run out.

This is strange,
and very slow.
Being faced with something
unknown.
To go from being
with someone else
and drunk,
and content
to an extent...
to sober, alone
and lost.

I don't mean to drop the mood;
it is partly an adventure,
one in which the victim
of oneself
explores the unexplored...
but what of it?
The answers to why
are evident.

The answers to why
lie in the silent walls,
the laughter outside
and the lonely dog that
limps the pavements
when you are all sleeping.
The only thing I know of it
is the distant ringing
of a bell
that fades in to
what is left.