I feel like I lost,
You won.
I was winning,
What happened?
I was finally in control,
or was I?
It's all a hoax,
because I'm confused.
I'm making everything up,
everything does't have to be this confusing.
It's me.
I am the problem.
The only way to fix that,
is to have me go.
Everyone would be better off,
In the end at least.
I know it,
I'm sure.
I ask myself,
Why did I write this poem?
Do I actually feel this way?
I shouldn't.
But then why am I saying it?
When I write poetry,
It is my way to vent.
My way to just let things out,
I didn't know i had bottled up inside me.
why is it always so sad?
I make it to be that way,
and I don't know why.
I don't know how to stop either.
It is something that helps me,
but I don't know why.
This time, writing poems doesn't seem to do the trick,
Is this it?
Am I finally worn enough to be broken to no repair?
I guess my bio was right except for one thing.
I am broken, but most wouldn't say in a good way.