strychnine

Each and every time I say: "This has been the last." But when I find myself again I'm re-living the past. The same mistakes I'll make once more. what can you expect when the times have changed but I am still the same as I was then? Broken heart, ruined dreams; what is the point to mend? when I know...eventually... everything will end. *By the way, strychnine is a poison.* i bite at the heels of human nature, which i think is rather fatalistic. this poem is about people who go on doing what they do, because "everything, eventually will end." like my brother in law. he smokes ciggarettes...a lot. even though he has been advised on numerous occasions by his docter and his family to quit. he figures he'll die one day anyway, so he might as well smoke and enjoy it. this poem is about anybody with a crutch, whether it be smoking or an addictive relationship or habitthat's bad for them. who don't make the effort to improve their situation, becuase to them it is futile. i feel sorry for such people. by the way, i made the title "strychnine" because these things that hold us back are like a poison. in my brother in law's case he might as well be drinking it, because ciggarettes are just as bad for you.