Futility

It is plain that a life which includes deep resentment leads only to futility and unhappiness. To the precise extent that we permit these, do we squander the hours that might have been worth while. ~ Alcoholics Anonymous (Kindle Locations 961-962).

Just what kind of squandering hours
does resentment bring?
And is that the only road to get there,
to futility and unhappiness?
Does the fact I squander hours
equal resentment run amok?
Maybe, if I'm the object of the feelings
while feeling them, disdain for squandering hours,
for stupid computer games, for a life frittered away.
An endless circle, playing games, resenting weakness,
hiding by playing more to try to salve my soul
for playing the games...
I powerless over resentment,
and life's unmanageable — by me, at least.