Confessional

I seem to mend; and that itself is good.
As I get better, so the urge is less
To use this context solely to confess
As if a trace of absolution would
Cling to the words I write, as if I could
By simply writing flush out all the mess
Cluttering me up, and thereby bless
My future, clean of everything that stood
Between me and my happiness. Instead
I note the need to use this space for that
Has ebbed itself, not totally away,
But from the height at which it once had sat,
Down to a normal level; yet that said,
You'll note I've done it once again today.