Whoops?

Dutiful Dad once told me, "Make good habits because bad ones are hard to break.",
But I was sixteen and my ears were turned inside out.
So I shrugged off the angst with cheap hot beer and speedingcarswithmyheadhungout
And stayed up late huffing vodka fumes with a clean homework slate.

Nights now are lived with my one eye closed; moved by the sounds
of crackling aluminum and the sizzle of leaves in stale beer.
A cacophonous collage which propels me the direction: down,
But drowned out by notes strumming burnt heart strings of yesteryear.

And what am I to do against this mounting wave of tainted self?
Whose shadow I've ignored to smile and slobber at the sun.
Yes, I should turn about to bear the brunt of the things I've done,
ignore the leaping in my blood begging me to be marooned in Hell.

Oh well...