showing the amount of bravery i do, waking up each morning and
wishing that instead of writing sonnets at night, i would be blacked
out on the couch, i find inner strength. in twenty nine days, i'm afraid
of being an alcoholic and living a life where i am half alive. are these
sonnets the things i am missing or do i just believe in their half-hearted
attempt of covering the truth? i am hating these things about you all over
again, like you were the reason behind the bloodstains in the bedroom and
the reason bleach won't remove these stains. as i saw the wall between us
start crumbling, it solidified itself all over again. i am sick of the red pepper
i attempt to fling into your eyes, blow back into my own face narrowly avoiding
you. all over again, i wish to apologize and come to terms with my small existence.

- kra