Thrown over the cliff
by a billion what ifs,
because I simply couldn't be sure.
A shadow of doubt
was still lurking about
and had rendered me too insecure.
Grasping for certainty,
scared of what could be.
I'm rapidly turning obsessed.
I just need to know
how it's going to go.
Maybe then I'll be able to rest.

Just a little bit more
is all that I need
to satisfy these demons
so desperate to feed
on the few remaining pieces
of my peace of mind
and then maybe I might
be able to find
a more permanent solution
to the problems I face
and all of those scars
that time can't quite erase,
but until that happens
I'll just have to endure
and try to make do with
just a little bit more.

Compelled to self-destruction
for the sake of novelty,
an alarming deconstruction
of my flawed ability
to handle the monotony
of mundane repetition
and an irrational tendency
toward personal sedition.

You may not believe it now,
but in time you'll feel the sting
of all of the contempt
that familiarity can bring.
Once civility erodes,
predictability gives way
to recycled, stifled conflicts
left with little more to say.

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.