Know this and know it
more than you’ve ever
bothered to understand
anything before: I am,
as lonely as they come.
As empty as they make them.
There is a reason my liver
is filled with whiskey.
A cloaked rhyme to why my
lungs have fallen in love
with smoke.
I am lonely.
But I have come to the
conclusion that loneliness,
no matter how often it weighs
the soul, is sometimes,
a beautiful thing.

Christopher Poindexter (via diluvie)

(via diluvie)