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A little poem I wrote the other day. Nothing too spectacular. Done better done worse......

When the smoke's in my face
I feel like everything is OK
But when it stings my eye
I can clearly see my lies
When my kidneys are missing the tequila
I seizure, I shake, but when it hits
My face changes to its disguise
It gets harder to drive but easy to express
What my mind wants to say
Three lanes on a highway
And I still can't find my way
Two tires scrape the curb
And I realize I've made a wrong turn
If I can't hold on to who we were
Then what am I
Why can't I find substance in a life
What do we live for
Love or....
I'm not sure what purpose is
But life, it can't be purposeless
Or can it
I don't understand this
Reciprocal existence but I bear witness
Consistantly to empty belief systems
I mean these hypocricys
But my visions, they're, different?
Twisted? Unrealistic?
Am I trying too hard? Am I dying
Does this poem ryhme? I see
Or do I.