Old habits die slowly,
never resting in peace,
Clinging to the familiar,
but all things must cease.
Wraiths of the past
come to take what was theirs.
Time claims to heal all,
yet too slowly repairs
all the wounds that say more
than we could ever tell,
but the scars that still plague us
define us as well.
All the fragments of flashbacks
and steps to retrace
are just pieces of puzzles
to fit into place.

The trial's begun,
with a jury of one,
and I know what I've done
so now the truth will come out,
but while I've done my due diligence,
I just can't find the evidence
to assert my own innocence
beyond unreasonable doubt.

Why do we keep doing this
when it always ends the same,
with little more than spite, regret
and a shifting sense of blame?
We must find something better
than this misplaced courtesy,
but we'll likely just continue
for the sake of what could be.

Continuous cacophony
closing in around me.
Relentless, senseless chaos
compromising my ability
to maintain my facade
of calm stability until
it all comes tumbling down,
as it inevitably will.

Fumbling in darkness
and waiting for the light.
Hoping against hope
that everything will be alright.
Clinging onto anything
that helps you make it through,
contented in the knowledge
that there's nothing you can do.

Unstable indignation
leveraging ignorant desperation
and exploiting separation,
while you breed uncertainty.
No sense or sympathy can dent
your childish entitlement,
as if an unpaid settlement
is all you ever see.

Both rewarded and punished,
for taking the bait,
with aggressive regression
to a simpler state.
In adrenaline's wake,
you're surrounded by fear.
Just a small price to pay
when it all seems so clear.