Why is there nothing left,
When all I wanted was something to hold onto.
Is there a reason you’ve left me here?
Is there a reason I’m leaving you now?
Is there a point,
To everything swirling around me.
Everything weaving in and out.
Is there a point to the bottle in my hand,
Does it mean anything, but a burn in my throat.
Do you mean anything,
But a pain in heart?
