I'm sitting here again;
tired, confused, I feel used.
I then wonder when
I will stop being bruised.
When I will stand up to this abuse.
I am not being obtuse.

So I run to the bathroom,
cold, wet tile ground.
I look to where the pain is found.
What stares back, eyes, tired and bloodshot.
The realization tears through me, gunshot.
My own hands fired the gun,
making all my work undone.
I'm done with this barrage...
of self-sabotage.