Spitting image of myself

I have seen better days

for there are

better days to be seen;

clearer, real,

full days of blinding sun

where we sit

like a pimple

for you to find out

how much you need me

and I find out

how much I don’t

*

If I didn’t try to kill myself,

I’d have never have lived

and realized that

death was nothing

but a drunk

who peed his pants

for fear of

how much he’s drunk

and how little it means

in the morning

*

I’m told

there’s a good thing

in living out one’s fears,

though I’m a thing

terrified of good

*

There’s a spitting image

of myself in a puddle

but he drifts away

in a ripple of phlegm

and snot

and my unused enzymes