Underneath it all,
broken pieces of a foundation,
scraps and splinters
holding something close to what I want
fragments and ill-fitting parts
the last piece of the puzzle, always elusive
same ol' same ol'
sorry story
that everyone has

and, by the way, what makes me so special ?
I did not invent chaos
I did not invent confusion
I did not invent roads not traveled
I did not invent missed opportunities

I did invent my crooked road, my sad sashay, my huge mistakes, my foreign trespasses
I did invent the state in which I find myself
I did invent my sick and needy brain
I did invent the choices that lead to nowhere
I did invent this little place that I call 'My place on earth'
I did invent my infinte struggle
I did invent my blasphemy
I did invent the illusion of a proper person
I did invent my desire to hold it all together regardless of the forest fires burning all around me.