you thought you were past this.
you thought the nights of itching scars and
slow beating hearts were a thing of the past.
you had a flickering hope you wouldn't find comfort
in the blade and in the rivers that follow
that the age of shamefully hiding stained paper towel pieces
yet here you are
a cycle of rusted parts and loose screws.
feebly turning around and around as the world
moves ahead of you.
ten years ago you didn't want to live and even now
the thought of it all being over doesn't seem too far fetched.
your habits have gotten stronger and tendencies more severe.
you think you're above it all
that finally you've made it
but then you always just fall down the hill
and there's no Jill to come after you.