Draft2

[ennia]

My friend says
"Society makes a good scapegoat."
And she is right.
For what else explains
The fear
The self-loathing
The abuse
That I inflict on myself?

If I can blame something
outside of my self,
Why doesn't the blame fall on me
for the choices I made,
Or the lack of choices I had?

And why do I feel
the need to rip open
the scars and scabs
that make up who I am, as if,
despite the many years,
I can drain the poisons from my mind,
Drip by burning drip

I catalog the varieties in my head.
Each drop adding to the index
But not lessening the agony of each.
By knowing what they are,
I might come up with an antidote,
that can't exist without
the drops of dark wine
spilling out of my glass.