All Mountains Are Volcanoes

Why do I talk
especially to the sky
wondering why?

It cuts me down,
cuts me short,
six feet tall and that's all.

Who do I talk to?

Everyone is selfish,
including me,
so I get it,
but I wish it were different.

I will not outlive this,
so I just what to try asking why.

I am gonna sleep
in my car
and call it a night,
recollecting these cruel questions tomorrow.

My hands are bloody
and I am...