Bandaids

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I’m a collection

of accumulated bandaids

Plastered over a seething

Mess of problems

I refuse to acknowledge

Choosing instead to

Willingly slide down

The slippery slope

of excess

Wallowing in

my addictions

Drinking away

my problems

Only to emerge hung over

And more damaged

By the inebriated sins

But I slap another

bandaid on

Because to look

my addictions

Straight in the face

Would most likely

Destroy me.