Tomorrow will be better,
My father used to say.
With empty pockets and a broken lip,
Dreams of love were squandered hallucinations,
rather than reality.
My curse of knowledge,
Once thought to bring me delight and wonder
welcomes only pain and self-destructive blueprints of lust.
I am an architect of my own ruin,
A preacher of my own mistakes..
Tomorrow will be better,
My father used to say.
But today’s today to my dismay.