I am woeful of decisions that have once been made.
Fallacies clouded the judgment of my heart that I have shamefully been unable to detect.
An instant sensation of remorse, contaminates the mind as euphoria failed to fulfill my sadness.
How could one experience joy kicking love to the curb on an empty street?
A division of the conscience uncertain of it's conclusions,
But it being too late to repair.
The uncertainty eats away at this divided conscience for quite a stretch.
Dreaming the dreams of the love once lost,
A love lost by my own hand.
The thought of victory when feeling such relief,
But feeling blue at the relief when finally occurred.
Reality had too lost it's way,
On the road of which I am paving.
Cue that sweet, miserable sound of the miniature violin as it penetrates the heart I seem to have broken.
Her heart was once mine and I treasured it so,
But comparing the pieces of them shattered on the floor would be asinine,
Since hers are more difficult to retrieve.
I'll always hold on to that remorse for as long as my hands can bare,
But will finding love be as simplistic as running from it?
A place to search for it, I won't know where.