That burn on my leg.
Was it an accident?
Or a scar of my sins?
A scarlet letter
of my wrongdoings

My head is heavy now
very cloudy and dim
Surrounded by thoughts of the past

Every now and again
I stop and I think
about trivial things that inhibit my sleep

What good has been done?
And why should I care?
These splinters cut deep
from this cross that I bear.

The last piece of a puzzle
that just won't fit.
Or a paper cut covered in salt

It's not inherently bad
but it does it make it tough
to simply get up in the morning.