Rome

Rome is burning down in my mind.

Finding every excuse that traces the lines

left behind by smoking remains that glimmer

and reduce all my reasoning to whines and a simper.

Feeling sorry for myself, and abashed to admit

that I may have indulged when I thought I had quit.

Fell off of the wagon and bounced down the road,

rolled under the wheels, then stood up.  I suppose

that I'm being too hard on myself once again,

that it's not even necessarily the end.

But when will I learn not to strive and to strain

and to push so damn hard that I nigh burst a vein?

To just chill the fuck out and to just let things go

goes against every inch of all that I know

how to act, how to be, in my head and in life.

So obviously, I need a release...or a knife

to cut out all the crazy, controlling compulsions

that try to create/avoid the revoltion

that inevitably occurs whether I like it or not,

so I might as well get out of my head and my thoughts.