Shortcomings

I day drink.

I smoke in the afternoons. 

I eat my feelings. 

I house strays.

I don't water plants. 

I overthink.

I cry my eyes out.

I abandon films mid-way.

I write poems using borrowed words.

I lie.

I muffle screams. 

I refuse to give in and let go.

I re-write ballads for old lovers.

I go fault-picking with new ones.

I under-estimate; falter.

I doubt; question.

I blame; hold grudges.

I assume; judge; expect.

I celebrate disappointments because I get to exclaim I told you so.

I am unfair; biased.

I offer my time, then vanish.

I play a strong game but some days I am only weak and feeble on the inside.

I frighten.

I remain sleepless on countless nights.

I shun morning rays on Sundays.

I sing of heartbreak like nobody ever has endured that pain but me alone.

I wish on some days that the planet was flat, just so that it'd be easier to walk to its edge and take the final plunge.

I write self-absorbed verses, blocking out all tangible atrocities plaguing the world.

I ridicule; I laugh.

I take in deep breaths, hoping with each last one that I've pulled in enough to be able to exhume that lingering indescribable feeling as I breath out.

I procrastinate; delay.

I remain breathless on cold floors on Thursday evenings after work. 

I hijack tables at coffee shops, sit and scribble down my shortcomings, wondering if all self-awareness does is take you nowhere else but closer to your personal hell.

That counts as a shortcoming too, right?