self sabotage

what I did when you weren't looking

Folder: 
2022

I am the fucking cherry

that gets left on the plate

I am recreating a dirty kitchen

without making any room for reward

I have screwed up all my chances

made this home spell out the world crumble

and kicked out all the houseguests

at least the devils still here

are paying me for something

 

I can’t usually explain

the things that make my heart hurt

and these people have their own fucking friends

who will tell them everything is okay

they are okay

 

I can’t usually explain

why my heart has not taken me out to dinner

in a few decades

why my mind keeps slipping down the mountain

why I sit here with exactly what I want

still thinking up ways to make a tragedy out of it

 

so I publish all the gray on my desk

and leave out the color

 

so I keep buying clothes that don’t fit

running around in them

and being confused when the world looks strangely

 

so I keep going out with someone else’s face on

and forgetting it’s there

when I look in the mirror

but sigh shrug and say

at least it’s better than mine

 

so I sit here and set the room on fire

and when that’s not enough

I strike a match to the fire

and when other pieces of me

come in

I hear

 

why would you do this?

 

because I’m not you

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 3/1/22

A Cyclic Kinda Dizzy

 

I don't seem to learn from my mistakes

They just drift into oblivion

And I can't count all of the heartaches

I've caused myself from what I've done then redone

 

It's like my conscience is inaudible

Or that I choose to ignore its voice

But it never stays that silent

In this cyclic kinda noise

 

It's a deja vu

A wicked voodoo

And it's all thanks to me

 

I think I'm in a tizzy

In a cyclic kinda dizzy

I keep calling myself out

But the line is always busy

And no matter what good cards I hold

For some reason I always choose to fold

And fall back into this misery

 

You'd think that after a good while

I'd start to get the picture

But I'm beginning to believe

That I'm a unfixable fixture

 

This history repeats itself

And I cannot control myself

From weaving this web that I weave

 

I think I'm in a tizzy

In a cyclic kinda dizzy

I keep calling myself out

But the line is always busy

And no matter how what good cards I hold

For some reason I always choose to fold

And fall back into this misery

 

I swear that fixing this mess is on my list of things to do

But I either don't know how or I don't care to

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