We make mistakes and fix them with glue, the cheap sort of glue that can't hold much together. So we wither in our pain and make a boat with our imagination. Because something is better than nothing, and heart ache is better than not having a heart at all. And we give reason to the things that aught not to have any, and we give light to the dark in hopes of gaining some sort of relevance to what we call life. We patch up the stains that are left from the looming sun that breaks the soil from it's dewy demise. We cancel on the weak to find someone willing, and we prey on the minds of weeds in the garden, because no one is perfect, and no one wants to be alone. We end up with who we think we deserve and regret everything and nothing all at once. We accompany our fears to the dinner table, but hide them with the broccoli in our napkins.

I just let it happen because it's something to do.
I just let myself bleed, because it's something to see.
I break the glass on purpose to feel what it's like to be in control.
I push myself to the limit to remember deep down that I'm still sane.