note for when you're ahead:

no one very much cares about your stupid little poems
your missives to a sickly version of you.

they're disinterested in your allegories
your holy fables about ***** needles and needless dirt.

and god forbid they watch you climb the ladder
unless your foot misses a rung, and you fall a wonderful fall into the welcoming embrace of the concrete below.

oh but i assure you they are crows
perched on a telephone wire, watching the theater of your car-crash life, as a limp arm tumbles out a capsized window, and the children dance in a circle around the fire, singing:

"we're here, we're here
for all that you hold dear
your eyes so dull and lifeless
yet they cry such pretty tears
we hold you out at arms length
but close enough to hear
the warring two, halves of you
as we imbibe your fear

...but no one very much cares about your stupid little poems."