I don’t know what it is about the past…

Time has passed,

but I am still looking back,

I lack words…

What else can I say besides sorry?

Feeling as if it was always my fault,

thinking as if there is no one else to blame,

wishing for that which beats inside…

To tear itself apart from natural causes;

So that I won’t have to.

I’m sorry that Now,

I see Then

I know you mean well,

I know I mean to get well…

But how soon is that to be?

Will I still WANT to be?

Ups and downs are foretold…

Why wasn’t I told this before?

Memories are equivalent to pain,

yet I sometimes find them bittersweet.

Seeing corruption and feeling pain,

living in smiles and going insane…

Why look back when looking forward equates to that of me molding my own?

“Let me live!” I scream to mind,

which echoes bouncing towards the infinite me.

I breakthrough…

Love is the only worth way that pays off in the long run…

Tears will shed,

but they will not tear me apart…

I only want to get closer to the truth.

Is that not what I can fold in my own hands?

Place in my pocket.

Is that what is foretold?

Me telling myself to tell myself to look forward.


Story of my life.

I’m sorry…

But I love.

Truth is what I make of it…

And I am tired of lying to myself.

Is it really my fault?


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