the clenched hands at the begining of the night. the sun has set, the moon is full, and i find myself still empty.
religion has been tried and found lacking, as has love, and drink, and any other vice imaginable.
for i have know them, i have know them all.
there seems to be this hole inside of me that nothing can fill and it maight as well be vice or escape, or i guess, both.
its just that ive begun to suspect that i am not destined to find contentment, nor happiness.
that is all