Often

Often i find myself in this crowed room,
a dank place full of dust and hot breath,
lust and hot sweat,
where conversation wafts through the air,
like smoke from cheap cigarettes,

often i find myself happy in this room,
and the laughs and howls provide warmth like camp fire,
where words and their meanings slur from drunken mouths
to be bent by drunken minds
like dim light through a bourbon glass,

often though i find myself alone in this room,
and the smell and the loneliness becomes nauseating
where men and woman become like tacky scenery,
and the god damn jukebox plays the worst song,
as all the heat escapes through sticky windows,
and only thing warm is the whiskey,