if i am being completely honest
my life is a strange blend
of catastrophic imperfection,
an ill-kempt, messy situation,
burning itself away.
the voices in my head
have been quiet for a decade
but i worry they are waiting
for their turn to speak;
listening, they wallow,
while i waste away in sorrow,
for an opportune tomorrow
when i am worn and weak;
but i'm thankful for life anyway.