Shit piles up in one hand, what’s in the other? Is it worth the wretched smell…
that lingers like a too long gaze. I’m sure it’s something sweet.
You have to balance that shit out. Dole out the crap over and over,
but be sure you save that good stuff for someone else.
You certainly don’t want to waste it, besides, then you’ll have nothing to
justify it all. I’m becoming more and more like you I’ve realized,
and if this is what it feels like then I can almost understand why. Almost.
This putrid black feeling you tuck down deep because it’s something you know
you can’t do anything about and it’s your own damn fault anyway.
So smother it, bury it, shove it down, but just below the surface, not too deep.
Oh, did I say “you”? My bad, I meant me.