BAD HABITS

We never quite kick habits,
No matter how big or small
Or whether they are legal or not.
Merely keep them at bay,
Stalling for time,
Trying to figure out how to stop just for a while.
Moments of brief respite
From doing the same old things
That are bringing grief to ourselves 
And to those around us.
It's as if we were hard-wired
To strive towards self-destruction
In an otherwise seemingly orderly state of affairs.
Devoid of compassion,
We keep on passing homeless people by,
Without acknowledging their presence,
All the while sucking on another filthy cigarette
And denying that we too are junkies
Just like those whom we are so often in the habit 
Of seeing ourselves as being above.
If only we'd pause our busy lives for a second
So we could consider the hobo's story
And how it could have been any one of us
Who ended up in the same situation,
Given the the wrong turn of events in our safe, comfortable lives.
It could have been the result of addiction
In all the myriad forms it takes
Or perhaps a run of bad health,
Including of the mental variety.
But we're too hooked to our own bad habit
Of condemning the condemned,
To ever think it possible
That we too could have no safe place to lay our heads,
For after all, despite our bad habits,
We have always lived in the lap of relative luxury,
Never to have quite fallen from the wayside.
And habits, they sure do die hard, 
But at least we're not junkies!
No we won't ever die, 
Slouched in the corner of a public toilet
With a needle in our arms.
That is unthinkable!
We are better than that
And yes, habits do die hard,
Like thinking ourselves above all the undesirables,
Despite being consumed by the grip of legal habits,
Such as killing ourselves with fire water and cancer sticks.
It's about time we got out of the habit of thinking our shit don't stink.
Saints ain't so perfect after all.
At the end of the day,
We are all junkies in one way or another. 
Indeed, we all have our vices.