Falling Sickness

Paths lay arranged before
like shattered shards of
some cosmic mirror.
Each reflecting a broken future
that is not now, will not be,
but might have been once.
Just as sharp as broken glass
a crimson trickle starts where
I pricked my hand on my future/past/present.

Bleeding turns to healing
healing turns to indifference
indifference turns to forgetting.
Always remembering the good things,
but never the solutions nor the snares.
So I fall.

Again, and again and again.
Same stupid mistakes over and over
tempting, enticing,
devouring, then mocking.
I know the danger.
I know the fear.
I know that twisted face.
Why don't I listen to myself?

Because of the falling sickness
and there is no cure...
so I fall.