keroac always drunk on rotgut died trying to forget he exists

i am the lonliest man who you'll never remember meeting
and the cliche image of the fog drifting through winter
barren oak trees as i thumb the two hundred miles to
san francisco is the laughably perfect compliment to my mood

and part of me is laughing
enjoying the essence of life
as i see it in this over all picture

and part of me is crying
like a little girl with a skinned knee
so fucking, disgustingly, shamefully
lonely

i'm almost convinced that this is the human condition
but if that were true shouldn't i find it easier to get
used to

now i've caught a ride with an ex-con
who's decent, turned his life around, grown up
and is off to ITT tech to earn a degree in computer
aided drafting
but he keeps farting and i can hardly bear the smell

einstien said that the key to happiness
is attaching your life to goals
and not to people
but goals can seem so far away
and people so present and warm

i am a loser
i am lost
i will die nothing and alone

but at the least i'll have a mind full of the pretty images
of these adventures