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.

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.

Heart and mind racing,
still pacing my cage.
Blindly retracing
each step just to gauge
the odds that I might
get through this in one piece.
Too tired to fight,
yet unable to cease.