How often have I fucked up today?
Simple enough question I know
But really how often
How many spills of waste
How many fires
Not that many I hope
I wasn’t counting
But what about the major fuck-ups?
The festering, fermenting, problems
That I have set in motion
Until the perfect time, the opportune moment
To explode back at me, in a pulse of hatred and resentment
So I ask again
How often did I fuck-up today?
I don’t know, you probably don’t either
But I tell you one thing
One depressing certainty
One of these days, I will find out