Sunday 4:26 AM

I write too many poems saying the same thing

over and over and over again

And I would like to think being self-aware makes up for it somehow

But in all the oddness I spew

Not much of it is salvageable, I'm afraid

But I may as well keep writing

Since I don't know what else to do

I'd like to push myself to the brink of something extraordinary

But at this moment, I just need to focus on recuperation

Which results in much repetition

Though that should change soon

At least I'm hoping that will be the case

Sorry, love