A life hanging on to the traces

Another night gone, wasted, smoked away;
The cloud of white engulf the remains of whatever sanity that existed,
At least I hope so!
But, I know, there are traces of it left still,
A life hanging on to the traces, almost insignificant,
Almost;
But no fret,
For there will be another night,
And then another one,
Nights that will be gone, wasted, smoked away,
Until the cloud of white engulfs,
The almost insignificant trace of sanity that exists still,
And then I’ll finally be free, lost, or dead,
Whatever comes first…