Fuck Up

Fuck up.

It doesn't matter what I do - no matter how many steps forward I take, - one action, one thought, one word is enough to completely mutilate the intricate webs of hard labour. 

Why is it that when things just seem too good to be true I feel my body tense like it’s holding it’s breath. 

Waiting. 

And just as I anticipate, the chaos unfolds. My soul releases its breath during the familiarity of my destruction.

Yes, I have blamed others for my mistakes. Hell sometimes they are a contributing factor but that doesn't change the fact that I’M the fuck up that fucked it up. 

In the dark agony of self loathing, the conversation replays in my head. Over and over and over. Each time a more painful stab as I long to just go back in time and change each action, each thought and each word in order for my newly formed web to be still intact.

You never learn do you? 

Maybe, one day. One day my web will be so strong that even the heaviest blow or harshest buzz will be enveloped by it.