Bitter Wines of Retribution

I made my bed, and I lie in shredded shambles
In earned affliction of a blue, forgotten moon
That now glares its unflattering florescence
Tonight upon my face, as barred owls croon
The raven cries a clumsy, crepuscular song 
Amidst absorption, I fancy an ode to my woe
Don't grant me this sympathy, for I am sordid
A petulant child, unwieldy blame in tow
Dismal daughter, drunk on dry satire
Like it were a bitter, tannic wine
The poet, sipping poetic justice
For now the umptieth time