To You

Filthy, wretched, never free.
All these things inside of me.
Diced, and sliced, and shattered soul.
Whenever have I been fully whole?

Completed, unseated, treated ill.
How can I truly want, self, to fill?
All my poison I ever go to.
I'm Never remade or healed anew.

Aching, I'm taking away my first stake.
My original gamble when I jumped in Hell's lake.
As I remembered I knew not how to swim
Memory of jumping has grown faint and dim

Mirror, mirror inside my heart.
Looking therein, I don't know where to start.
Wound and scar and blemish galore.
What is my purpose in washing it more?

What do I sow, what will I reap
From each new leaping? Will I, lessons, keep?
Where may I place this satchel of tools
Bought dear from wise men, and from one poor fool?

Answers will come to me in the end.
This I know. My thoughts will all blend
Until those thoughts become but one
Drop of wisdom to which I may run.

Thoughts of one filthy, poor wretched fool
Who's attempted to live by each rule.
Thoughts that now are sent out to You.
What are You feeling?
What will You do?

Adam Scott Campbell