Why am I feeling trapped in this life I so desperately chased after?

when the hangover hit, when the haze clears up, when the crowd leave their mess behind. I'm sitting in a small apartment room in a foreign city dotted by neon lights like a xmas tree, nightly streets overflowing with people no doubt drowning in their own sins, unspeakable, unimaginable. Every time I lookout that small pane of dirty gl, I set my eyes upon this mive human nest, packed with wolves seeking their next victim of lust, desire in this ruthless jungle under the disguise of love, hope and all good things they promises there will be. Every sleep cycle I dream of countless bodies falling into a bottomless pit, no screaming, no anger, no expression, just falling head long, dressed in black; like bombs falling on helpless walking corpses. I walk with surges of emptiness enveloping me. Day, work is a routine, "everything's alright" is a guise; why do I need to talk to these people? Night, why I'm sitting in this place, faces flashing by in split seconds lit by strobing colors; drowning in cigarette smoke, fumes of scent, sweat dripping on my skin, mist of perfume so thick I can taste bitter on the tip of my tongue. SO this is what I WANTED right? I struggled desperately to get to this hellhole from that "boring" suburban life so I can drown in these sensations, that is what I wanted.?. time move like a fluid, you're in it and it's over, but somehow lagging, stroking your face, like her, whose name I never remember, I cease to distinguish one name from another, one set of eyes from another, you're looking out of the window of a bullet train moving at top speed. The world start to merge, the rowdy laughter; the ting of shot gles collide; the bleeding red of her lips; her trembling fake eye lashes; the taste of her sweat on her neck; the pain emanating; smear the blood she bite through on my shoulder; peaking; the scent of a stranger, moving violently/me in a strange city filled with strange lights till it's all over. I stare across the fume of a lit cigarette emitting from my mouth, trying to concentrate on the twisting image that is a poster across the bed, I can see figures of red. Like pupils gaping into my soul, through that empty void I subconsciously trying to fill every day&night. There is no escape; we're as significant as an atom under the sky. My life will be over in a blink of eye and when I fuse with the universe, I'll be but part of the energy, contributing to entropy. Perhaps I never existed, I was just energy, and I will be energy; I am but a conversation process, an formula; so it ends, as abrupt as human emotions. WHY????