Why do I feel
Why do I always give you the benefit of the doubt and never cut myself
the same slack?
make a larger
mess of things.
I can never seem to find words that truly ever suffice.
Simplified to failed efforts.
slice my tongue off and
gouge my brain, and devour it .
still appear to me in the place
behind these eyelids,
the only place you seem to meet me.
[...]When I awake, I drown in a drunken stupor of regret. Regret of
what . . . what I said.
what I gave,
I couldn’t give you
I didn’t give myself.