Maybe it's me... no, im certain its me. The feeling I get tells me its me. Apart from the feeling, I still know it's me. Me, being cynical and negative, points it back to me. Yeah, it's me.

Why me, God? Why did I take this path? Why did I become so annoyed? Why can I not leave it behind me?

When I probe inside my cup I am repulsed. Its filthy...nauseating.

Would I drink from my cup? No.
Therefore, I have nothing to offer.

Why am I repulsed and annoyed at the cup of anyone else?

What do they have to offer?

It's not just me, it's them. The other cups are nasty too.

Its not the cup, its the filth.

Maybe it's not me, it's the filth.

Maybe it's not them, its the filth.

The filth is overwhelming...in every crack and corner. It's in every tic of time past and present. From the first childhood memory to the birth of my son. There are so many hurting people from the filth...my filth. There are so many starving people who are needing a drink.

It's not the cup. I like the cup. I love my cup. Its unique and different...detailed and vintage. Its got character and history... and your fingerprints are all over it.

Your blood has trickled and dripped in my cup but my soul aches for an overflow.

But it's me... i'm certain, it's me.