I'm writing out my story from start to finish,
I'm not quite sure where to start.
Everything flows out like a waterfall over a cliff,
pulling the strings and tearing my heart.

The buildup of stories have occurred over time,
and not one person knows the entire truth.
I wish I knew myself sometimes,
because everything is slowly breaking my youth.

The innocence I once had, is long gone now.
I've seen and heard too much.
Oh how I wish I could go back,
to when life was solely soft to touch.

I complain about plenty,
though sometimes I don't know what.
It's just nice to let out,
the feelings I keep shut.

For stories have conformed,
the me I am today.
Eventually I won't know,
the me that's got away.

*I have changed.