Damn. I'm out of sugar. I'm out of cream, too. I'm out of milk, toothpaste, ketchup, toilet paper, and batteries. I'm out of strength. The day became too heavy And I just can't lift it any more. Leave the night to someone else. I'm out of compassion. I've looked around in all the Cupboards of my heart, but I can't Find an Indian tear. And just when I think I can't get any emptier, I find a Fuck And get rid of that too. I'm out of my mind. Out of reasons, explanations, Excuses, and justifications. I gave them all away. I'm out of names. No identity left. No attachments, No yearning for what might become Or what might have been. The Buddha would be proud. But I got rid of him too: Threw him out with the old socks And now I drink my coffee black.