Maybe this non dairy rocky road was already laid out for me like some kind of haphazardly tossed together destiny of unfathomable tragedy
Or maybe I was too afraid to look too closely or venture too far from safety
Didn't see the blame had shifted dramatically, mostly to me, but how wrong can one guy possibly be?
And yet still I will admit, there's a possiblity the mentality I harbor is mostly negativity manifesting this reckless trajectory
No way to know for sure cause the final copy sent to the publisher was never run by me
So maybe, just maybe, it's some combination of these three, and everything you don't see but what pushed the first domino is beyond me
Can't jog my memory, the good, the bad and the ugly all lost to ancient history, constantly looked over, over and over to the point of obscurity
There's no money so follow the calamity of the paper back story, it's short and gory
Densely packed and stacked with everything that would make someone uneasy
Only pain and shame, no glory, not even a hole, boxed in and been lonely for 40
My future is solely based on what I've done previously
Most might say, "uh, yeah, obviously" but it can get tricky
With a little creative liberty taken to push the limits of an already worn down psyche
Me, myself and I, a split personality or just a not so holy trinity?

©2024

if your stars got messed up i would blame myself.

I stepped outside and
the world greeted me as if
to sing, welcome home!

There you are knocking at my heart,
I don't know when it started
Maybe centuries or was it yesterday?
Unknowingly I was being coloured by you.
I am unaware of my first wish but now my time flows through you.

There you are knocking at my heart,
I am already afraid of the cold days without you.
Are you a dream? Maybe a mirage?
Because like a lie I am clinging to you.

There's this book in my hands,
it's cold, even the ending is sad.
I am not insane to smile or read to a sad story.
But strangely, I keep opening you up.

I keep reading it page by page,
like I would touch the moon.
In between the visible lines
like there's a secret prayer just for me.

Now I am weeping willow, but I can't close it.
Even though this story is like the thousand others,
But I secretly keep wishing to
the broken stars and dried wishing well,
Maybe this one will end differently.