In points of importance I have few,
That took time to recognise,
To rationalise a reason why none are new,
I found so hard realise.
That the mind and icon behind these eyes
Is nothing but another me,
That the version that I once was traps the old
And seeks to be set free,
That the dark, dank and dreaded depths of deception,
That my soul daily dredges through,
Finds so few sweet, sepia toned seconds of recollection,
So much more worn than when they were new.
Like a limb that has become rotten to me,
Removal is the only cure,
But separation seems so sadly to be,
Impossible to endure.
To remove myself from my versions past,
To see another dawn,
Like phoenix forged and formed in fire at last,
I too must be reborn,
The terrifying thought to be born screaming, new,
Into the world again,
Rebirth would mean everything to redo,
Even brand new pain,
Just as with any birth I need refrain,
To decide what I will do,
But just as birth and death are the same door frame,
I’m slowly making it through.