Acquired Taste

Its hard to see some mornings,

Why I ignore all the warnings. 

Do the voices ever stop? 

Do they ever leave? 

Will I ever be back on top?

not that I can see. 

It only gets worse.

But I cannot stray the course. 

Inside I tell myself that I'll be alright,

but that same me, is the one I fight. 

I don't want to be better,

I don't want to see the truth.

I know its easy to re-read the letter,

its easy to play the sleuth,

and in doing so, I'd see the words before my face.

But this rotten apple has become my acquired taste.