Though peaceful is the life I attempt to live, to stop the harm I must forgive.
Sitting in the shallows, dwelling on the pain I've caused, inflicted thus so with little pause.
On myself I work so hard, yet setbacks they abound, eating me from within it seems, hope it gleams, but there sits my own reality ripping at the seams, collapsing all around.
Expectations undulating beneath my feet deep within the ground, it appears they cannot be fulfilled.
I'm stuck in the mud that is my own apathy, clawing at the earth trying to be free.
The question remains, why can't I just things be?
Wrote this last night, I've realized my style tends to be more lyrical and rhyming, still not sure if it's "poetic" but it's the way I like to write.
