If I can pick one that describes who I am, it would probably be this, from "Older Chests":
we all seem to need the help
Of someone else
To mend that shelf
Too many books
Read me your favourite line
I can break it myself. I can fill my life with everything that gets me through a night: Drugs, alcohol, girls, boys, counting sheep, watching digital digits change, news, politics, weapons, war, crying, smokes, books even. Whatever. So for one night I escape from what got me to want to escape to begin with. The crack begins, it's still small.
And then another night, and another, and yet again. The crack grows. The weight of whatever it was I escaped with is too large to carry.
But I never seem to be able to fix it myself. It's not that I need someone else. I know what's the best thing that I got from it all. I know my favourite line. I just don't seem to have the motivation.
That's what it means for me.
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