Screaming outside my hotel room. A restless night. Culminating. In helpless screams. Of unknown people. Anguished. Full of unrest. Strangers. With disparate identities. With or without homes. With or without family. Strangely restless souls. Put together. By an ignorant hotel manager. On the same floor. Or is it. My imagination. Going wild. Wallowing. In sympathy. For the self. Finding expression. In the anguish of another. The noise in the other room. The shouting of my heart. Their voice of pain. My disturbed soul. Seeking an unknown truth. Seeking happiness. That never existed. Confined to a hotel room. Screaming. Shouting. Calling out. At a muted. But loud frequency. Audible only to myself. And other restless souls.
I sit by the bar. Near the busy street. People pass me by. As I watch cars speed past. Leaving blurred trails. Of different colors. Red. Blue. Green. Amber. Diffused. Transient. One trail. Makes way. For another. Everything passes. The cars. The lights. The trails. The past. Life. The trails get muddled. They merge into each other. Confused patterns. Cloud the mind. Suppress logic. Exaggerated fear. Whisky wipes the trails. To create new ones. Going forward. Erasing those I left behind. Whisky is permanent. Nothing else is.
Longing is punishment. Yearning is torture. Unleashed by forces. Beyond our control. Motivated by a concept. Called love. Fueled by a nuisance. Called lust. Controlled by a demon. Called passion. I yearn for you. Long to be with you. Dream about us. Remember what was. Imagine what could be. Unable to endure. What is. Without you. I am weak. I am mortal. I am incomplete.
Disgusting. The world I live in. Despicable. The people I know. Abominable. Me. Because I inhabit this world. Because I waste time with these people. Spewing shit from the mouth. Carrying venom in the mind. Shit. Filth. Dirt. All around. Maybe I should stick to whisky. Maybe I should go back to my dirty room. Away from adulterated trash. With my own trashy self.