I forgot to not give my mistakes a name
and I left a bowl of food out for them
so now I'm ****** because I'm attached
to the idea of what I could have been.

Is it a sin to crave redemption or, at best, a reset button
if I can't recall a recent time I liked who I've grown into?
I'm digging, fingers bloodied, in the dirt to find something alive or otherwise worth reviving,
but these old bones are just about ready to give up the ghost this time.
On my tombstone, please inscribe "they tried."