Why do I insist on doing this to myself?

Forever inventing new methods for self torture.

New objects to grieve even as I light tbem on fire.

Crying over consequences of my own design.

Accident or not, does not really matter.

My heart never sees the difference.

***

I must be addicted.

Collecting tears from yesterdays sorrow.

Tiny broken little stars that can only emit light not their own.

Glittering with the promise of better times both past and future.

I cannot give up that light.

So, I become my own star catcher.

***

I wish I could quit the habit,

But some skies require light.

If not my own, a kindred dimension to mine.

I act like the good addict I am.

Chasing these tiny stars on my hands and knees.

So, maybe, a dark sky can have a little of the light.