I feel it slowly tightening,
As it wraps around my heart:
This feeling; something I
Know all too well.
Whether indirectly, or
In most cases, directly,
I am always the knife
That inflicts the wound.

Perhaps I'll never learn:
I might not be capable;
My mistakes never become lessons
And neither do they lessen.
Being accustomed to the past,
I am unable to move on.
A force of habit can
Be difficult to unlearn.

So I continue to make
Mistake after mistake:
There are times when I don't even
Remember making some them.
Soon, regret follows;
It torments and consumes
Until there is nothing left
Except anger and frustration.

I am wrong, you are right,
Even if that is not the case:
I am willing to forgo logic;
I don’t need logic.
I don’t need to be right.
I need you…
Always.

Which is why I'll try
Again and again
To make amends
For all my wrongs.
Even if my desperate pleas,
My countless apologies
Will always fall
On deaf ears.

My pride is not important,
At least not anymore,
I’ll throw it away
If it will fix things.
But I am not to be trusted;
I'm the knife that digs
And twists in your side…
As you are the one in mine.