Sorry Self; Sorry, Self

Now I can see clearly how work and relationships may have been created in the same rusty mold. They screw you over; you start to doubt yourself. They ditch you; you get more fucked up than you already are. Still, you give it time, pick yourself up, get back on track, find a new one. Then they come back and you open doors, give your keys even, like you have not been robbed before. You only see white walls--paint's all fresh and immaculate. Suddenly there's hope again, days are bearable, you're smiling. But just when you think you're in control once more, they leave you cold and dry--again. And again. And at this point, you got nothing and no one else to blame but you. You and your sorry self alone. Your sorry self, alone.