I can tear myself to pieces,
it is a natural place for me.
I can and I will and I'm better
than I was but I'm worse still.
I can splinter myself and let every
doubt burrow itself into my open skin,
let the insecurities bloom into
harsh and wicked flowers,
let the bile rain into my poisoned mind.
I am precise with my agony,
following the loose ends to their end
and mine and fraying the
cord in between.
I do not mean to, but the issue
presents in its encroaching way
and I see no path but the
truth.