This is not a letter to myself,
Nor to someone I left.
This is for someone filled with regrets,
For those whose pain demanded to be felt;

It was the obscure evening,
The night when you found yourself— empty.
You lost trace of the light's being,
T'was the moment you chose to flee.

You gave everything you must give,
Gave them all their needs—
Yet there's nothing left for you, not a penny,
Not even a single bit of sympathy.

You were lost, tears were crystalized,
Pain made you lose your mind.
There, you made a decision,
You became your own rebellion.

You killed people, hurt 'em with your words,
But never regret, they did the worse.
Chose to choke you while you're breathless;
The people who made your darkness.

It wasn't your fault that you hurt people,
It was them, who killed your own person.