This sweetheart is me.
All bulletholes and jangled nerves,
paranoid and irritable, quick to condemn,
forever unable to wait it out, unable to forgive
yet constantly mourning the loss of friends.
a graveyard of people, constantly overturned.
You'd think I'd have figured it out by now--
why is it that they go like leaves in winter?
I am honest. That's all I can say.
I think: I have no other flaws worth mentioning.
That's where the trouble begins.