My mess

Yesterday I was alone and afraid,

looking around at the mess I had made;

wondering how to make sense of it all,

wishing I had a good lawyer to call.

Instead I drank coffee and had me a smoke,

straining my mind to conjure a joke;

nothing came, nothing ever does,

‘cept tidbits + snipits, an unending buzz.

So I wrote what I could

and then I stood,

alone and half-naked in my living room;

searching the closet for some kind of broom

to sweep up the pieces and clean up the dust;

what’s left of my life and my heart made of rust.


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