Relapse.

I've found
That the cleanliness of one's immediate living area
is usually in direct proportion to
the overall state of their current
affairs.

Well this morning I was up to my wrists in my own
sick,
cleaning up what appeared to be
the ejected remnants
of an order of late night nachos
and some unidentifiable
braised pork product.

I, the hypocrite on high.

You do the best that you can
but you are so deeply flawed.
Underneath every human's
smiles, waves hello,
and hearty handshake with back slap
is an unfathomably profound
sadness.
This nagging sense of incomplete.
Even when the going is good
we find a way to inwardly say
"It isn't enough,"
and so we subconsciously self destruct
to somehow make the outside
resemble
the inside.

Pardon my pork postpartum
but there have been days when
I've liked myself a heck of a lot
more.