by joetwo

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

Usually unknowingly

Waiting, building

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