But, But, But I Did

But I did fall again.
Last night.
For a few hours my heart felt warm.
It felt safe.

But I make a mistake.
Nothing in this hole will ever be worth this. (Or is it anything?)
These newspaper clippings are cutting my fingers.
This dirt stinks.

But why do I deserve this?
I tripped!
This was an occurrence of faulty machinery.
I should probably go to see a specialist.

But I really should blame myself.
I didn't listen.
I'll never find those things in this hole.
It's too echoey to be quiet, a hole is not a home, you can't help crying in this terror, I have no leverage to break this right arm, this is not a neighborhood, I will not be able to find a comrade, especially not one that has glue because there are no Rite-Aids down here, and certainly no Jo-Ann Fabrics.