Penance

 

E V E R Y D A Y,  I DIE

Every day I ask my self why?

I hold in my hand an imaginary loaded gun

Like starring directly into the sun

So I can burn out the ability to see

The dark ugly part that is inside of me.

 

Every day I wake up and vomit

Because of my relationship with this planet and me being on it.

An imaginary stick of dynamite in my mouth blows up.

I sip on stomach acid, hidden in my coffee cup.

My joy sits in a cage wondering if it will be free

It peers out and looks at the burnt up me.

 

Every day I growl and I sneer

Not at others, but at my own wimpy fears.

I fight the battle with that man in the mirror.

Striving to get closer to understanding much clearer.

That self actualization and self acceptance

Will not come from self flagellation and solely through penance