I have blood on my hands

from all the time I've killed,
corners I've cut,
opportunities I've shot.

And this crime tastes as sweet
as the dessert I didn't have the power to save until later.

Now my appetite is ruined.
The stale flavor of expired obligations lingers on my tongue.

I really hope you don't put down your fork, though,
because inside, I am a two-star restaurant
and I rely on your reviews to stay afloat
like that ice cube in your glass relies on the buoyancy principle

and just like that ice cube,
sometimes I melt down

a little bit.

and just like that ice cube,
the longer I wait, the more watered down this drink becomes.
To the point where it's so anemic
the only people interested in it
are the health officials
who tell me they're going to shut me down
if I don't clean up my act.

So send my apologies
to time's family,
to corners' friends,
to opportunity's children.

I'm facing the consequence.
I'm pleading guilty.

The future is my judge,
and bail is set at my indulgence.