Why?
Why was the word stuck in the thoughts of a person sitting
in a room, an ordinary room, a messy room, with a couch, a
T.V. and a desk. On that desk was a bottle of cheap alcohol,
a loaded gun loaned from an example of a man which he, the
person spoken of earlier, can become, is becoming, a piece
of paper and a pencil, cigarettes and an almost full ash
tray. The persons name is some what not relavent, but for
the purposes of this is name is Lee. It is Friday night, the
weather out side could be described as Gray, a little wind,
clear and dark skies, a bit foggy, chill, and the streets
are already almost empty of people since it is 3:58 AM, it
is silent and yet noisy, chaotic, unresless,
Why?
Just 'Cause of that question,
Why?
Why is he sitting in front of that desk, with no sounds or
living spirit around him, no music, no people, not a flicure
of life, not even from himself.
Why is he sitting in front of that desk, drinking cheap
alcohol, smoking cheap cigarettes, mind exploding with
thoughts, fantasy's, dreams, hopes, desires and the question
Why, looking down at the bottom of the bottle and down the
berral of the gun and with nothing to write on that piece of
paper, no goodbyes, no apologies, Nothing.
Why couldn't he done better at school?
Why couldn't he be a better son?
Why couldn't he be a better person.
Why couldn't he say the right thing?
Why couldn't he do the right thing?
Why does he act that way?
Why does he live like that?
Why does he dress like that?
Why does he smell like that?
Why does he live there?
Why couldn't he find a better job?
Why does she act like that?
Why does she dress like that?
Why does she look like that?
Why does she smile like that?
Why she has that stare?
Why couldn't she gave me a chance?
Why couldn't she stay?...Stay...
Why does he keep on living?
Why he doesn't Kill himself?
Why do anything at all?
'Cause.