And it never fails. The messes I make.
The things I do. It's like I must self destruct, like I live to clean it up.
And time after time I find myself here.
Not sure what I am looking for but I make it that much harder.
Living it to learn it. And here I am with my head in my hands and running out of answered prayers.
How many more times must I find myself here? I fear I am drifting, and there is so much to do but I can't move. So far from orthodox and so far from conventional. Something like a gypsy and these people I meet their faces are all starting to look the same to me.
The anger has learned to manage itself. So where does the road led from here? Maybe I am a little darker than I ever thought because I don't seem to have that light like them so happy and so bright.
Here I am once again, my head in my hands and running out of answered prayers. And it feels like no one can relate.
Take a deep breathe and be prepared to fuck it all up again. Never letting anyone get to close, always ready to move. Always staying on my toes.
Why can I not keep still? But all that there is to do is let go and move on.
Pick up the pieces to the mess that has been made put it in your bag throw it over your shoulder and carry on.