Spent the day
throwing away my sense of self.
Spent the last breath
on old habits, death
and a bottle of cheap thrills.
It kills me to
tell you how bad I 
want to change.
It hurts the way I 
used to think
I'd never have to feel.
It's that bottom-feeder
heart, the
place I grow the guilt
that starts this ache.
Chasing old pornographics,
pleasuring my static mind.
Come to grips
and I find only pain,
dream as if I'd
fake my way into her heart again.
Plan it, destroy it, begin
it all over again--
this isn't what I planned.