Poem: "Patched Up"

This afternoon

at the pier

I had my choice of vice in one hand

and nothing in the other

I left my feet dangling in the water

airing out my mental laundry

They say if you write in a journal

you can be more in touch with yourself

and to be honest

I really don't wanna be.

I'm scared of what I'll find.

I've been putting my fire out there

and all I ever really feel is put out.

Since then, I run around with an icy heart

and winter's the only thing that feels chilly to me.

I guess I'm just angry at myself

for slipping up again

tripping up again

screwing up again

again and again.

Like I don't already know my lesson

before I even care to stop myself

my vice has fallen into the water

and once again I am empty-handed

very much so

very, very much so.