Culprit

I take those imperfections and I tuck them all away
I file them succinctly under letters labeled Z through A
I put in little pictures, annotations to relay
The reason that they’re there as if to measure some dimension of decay

And organizing every bit of failure that I find
I tell myself it’s like a map to places where I’m surely blind
And labeling the evidence I carefully designed
I casually connect the dots and hope that it’s a path to peace of mind

I put the frailest fragments like they’re pins upon a board
And stretch a length of yarn between them all in search new reward
As if, there in the middle, I can find the real discord
The poison underneath so that an antidote I’m finally moving toward

I take all of the answers and I file them, you see
In folders, alphabetically arranged, I labeled A to Z
I put in new addendums, black and white photography
That always seem to show that there’s an answer there, below,
But it’s hazy and just maybe I’m a little more than crazy
But sometimes I think the culprit that I see is merely me

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