Self Inflicted Wounds

I had a horrible habit of doing the worst thing at the worst time. I was my own worst enemy and thought I was so unique it this insanity. I was so mistaken.

Here is my poem:

Self Inflicted Wounds

The dog circles his tail in sickness,
returns to eat the vomit it just spat out.

Resultant to partial assimilation of prior acts,
sort of a body language umlaut.

Smoke the stick of cancer,
knowing full well the slow death that it brings.

Eat the salt, fat and sugar cane
to satisfy the uncontrollable cravings.

Living a battered existence,
humiliation day after day.

Returning to find knuckles so hard
once burlap now merely chambray.

Force the beer down to stop the shakes,
not wanting but having to.

Bloodshot eyes, hands tremble with sweat,
skin having the grayish hue.

Self inflicted wounds
there are so many
ways to suffer and die.

But like the dog
returns to the pile,
never knowing really quite why.