There are so many little tomorrows
Each bringing nothing but sorrow
Each sorrow bringing its own sorrow
Carrying its own sorrow
To grind you into the ground
To gather bits of your soul
To scatter it dark and cold
Spinning through the stratosphere
To cause you to wonder:
Am I really here?
Was I ever?
But lest you forget
My dear
The soul is more than you or I
More than muscle
More than thigh
It can be corrupted
Or piercingly pure
Either way
It will remain here
“Do your damnedest you impish fiend!”
“Bring out the razor, the pills, the booze.”
“Bring out whatever you choose.”
……I will remain clean