You left feeling shameful,
with a fist full of regrets you
hope to put to rest. I bid my
time dreaming up things I
wish that would last. Because
what do I do when all hope
has passed? Tell me where to
go when I'm the one on my
hands and knees begging
for a sign to help me find my
way home again. I am lost,
praying not to be found. You
bid your time wearing guilt
as a mask. While I sit and ponder
on the past, your words play
over and over again like a
broken record. Off key. Out
of tune. I am lost.