A burnt offering.

[FYI, the song I reference is "The Poison" by Alkaline Trio. Of course.]

I keep quoting that song
like it's the answer to all life's questions.
  (Where are my keys? Has the milk gone bad? Why am I still here?)
"Nothing has changed
but now I fight with words."
I do. Sometimes I wrestle with them
and try to pin them down lifeless in the dust,
and sometimes I try to catch them but
they flit away like pixies
laughing at me all the while.
They trick me,
lying down on the ground for me to
trample over them--the dead ones, the ones that
aren't mine, and just when I think I understand
and try to take them for myself
they swim away like that fish:
the one that got away.
I can see it now;
the smoke rising up
from my life, in the future,
burning up in a holocaust to these words,
these stubborn and intangible and beautiful damn words
that I don't think will ever trust me.