I've never known what to do with myself
when I'm on that tedious and angry verge of self-destruction.
I've got to tear myself apart, tear my body and my mind and my heart [my soul might be salvagable] into a thousand crumpled pieces,
throw those pieces into a giant hat or maybe an ancient cauldron,
burn them, lose them, melt them, whatever.
I'm not myself and I hate everything that myself IS at the moment,
and there's so much I want [to do, to be, to help, to love, to inspire]
but everything I can/should/need to be eludes me, almost always.
I can't ever seem to reach even one apple from that branch way up there,
let alone a dazzling star in a dark, dark sky.
But I suppose it's the 'apple' that got me here in the first place;
it's that forbidden fruit that I so adore,
that forbidden fruit that gets me in trouble
Oh God, Oh God,
I needed You,
God, all this time
I needed You--
I needed You.
Ugh. I SO hate consequences.