The ashtray

I'm a damn ashtray. My sole purpose of existence is to gather burned up cigarettes and keep them inside me until the retard can't stand the nicotine stench anymore and empties me.

I'm a damn ashtray. I'm also a witness. I gather information about everything that happens around me. Today (tonight) he came "drunk as a mofugga" again. He sounds a bit angry. Something must have happened, or maybe he just realized how fucked up his life really is. How the hell am I to keep pretending I'm only here to put out his cigarettes? When is this crap going to end?

I wish he'd just find her already. I'm just a damn ashtray.