Fully dissolved
Into a doubtful broth
I stream for the gutters
At a mere, trivial glance

As the languishing filth
Of our day
A mire to avoid
And christened
The home of our trials

The fault is wrangled
In the snares of my being
Where the world passes on
In each victim’s desperate gasp

The fault must linger
Within the folds of my squalor
The hardships, I’ve crafted
In a lonely stream of self-doubt