One day at a time

Cabaret or crucible?
     It's a choice,
             I suppose...
But as for today, I'm tired.
   Loneliness reared its ugly
     face in the mirror;
so I cut off my hair—
   it was a silly romantic notion
       to have felt like
                   I owed somebody.

   The fact is that I break things;
clearly illustrated by
               the smoldering ashes
      and pieces of
                     what was,
                 now past,
             debris
        left in my wake.
  I chopped down my
           beloved dreaming tree
      for firewood.
   The bridges I burned
          glow faint red,
    revealing just how green
         it was on the other side.
My syncope at
           past deeds recounted
      amounts to a feint retreat.
  I've named my sins,
          repented,
         asked for absolution;
    but the facts of my destruction
            remain.
My spiteful ego
       is no less a part in my Gestalt
   than are my empathy
           and passion.
At times, I wonder,
     could I have been anyone
           other than me?

But how do I forgive myself
           for the fear and
       bruises
                  I've inflicted?
     How do I ask forgiveness
               from those I've injured?

I cannot go back and undo.
      I am discredited.
   My vows ring out hollow,
              like empty lip service.
    I have squandered and wasted.

Take the bottle from these lying lips.
              Smash it.
     Use the shards
        and tear open my chest,
   scrape away the black bile.
        I swear there's a heart beating
                         underneath.

  Create in me
               a clean heart; renew
         a right spirit, within.