What the Hell

As I sit tonight, of all nights I think, what the hell!? As I smoke and drink and smoke and drink, I think what the hell, I cant finish, I cant start and I cant love without dying over and over Gameover. I am bad at the game of love, a poker match with high stacks the girl is the pot and I bet all in I fold. Get out of town, live a little, drive a car into a bridge, drown in water with stones in my pockets, a metaphoric death, Virginia Woolf I love you, kiss me off! Game over, I lost again, what the hell, what cant I get right I always lose. Not in Poetry though, And those so-called fans clap for me, when I light another cigarette and die with the stoke of a pen to paper. They eat my **** up and I sit and think What the Hell!? My stuff isn't even that good... goodnight...