A look to a child
In all their unbridled
Innocence
And a thought:
Where did I leave mine?

It is all over the place.
The traumas of growing up.
The realization that people
Are their own worse enemies
At times.

All the time instead.

In the broken pieces
Of you,
Put back together
In a haste,
Only to be shattered again.

This innocence,
Abstract now,
Does exist
In the person you
Once were,
That child nurtured
To love, molded to hate.

A rotten fruit now;
Only on the inside.

Your smiles have turned
Into dissatisfaction for
Your lack of action
In existing,
Forgetting to live.

You grew up too fast.
Now it is to late to go back.