The changing of chapters determine actions after the reoccurring never ending aspects of my past. Or was I just asleep all along while you'd weep over my mistakes, the ones I wish I'd never make. The art of emotion lays out as a notion for everyone dwelling on what can't be done. Inhale. Exhale. I'm riding on the tail end of living life happily, and practicing apathy. Sometimes I'm tired of it for the sake of it and giving up on everything to be the one I want to be. I sob so profusely, this noose hangs so loosely on me, with no apology. Have mercy on me for I am weak, stone cold hearted, back to where we started again. No not this again. In the end we'll pretend to be dead and end it, fade out humbly. Look up at the sun, cut off her head, bring up her morals now that she's dead. She was just a queen until her rule led to this suffering.
I'm helpless, so careless.
Distressed. I regress. It's not you it's me.
I'll live and I'll learn as my innards turn, begging desperately.
My eyes on the prize in which I'll never win. Where do I begin?
The rage and the urgency is building up inside of me.
I'm sorry for all its worth.
It's just like they always said in the beginning.
You sound like a broken record that keeps on spinning.
One day at a time, they said. It's all they're asking.
Determination is a quality that I am lacking.
You can only fight your own wars,
but this is a battleground of desperation behind closed doors.
One day at a time, they said...
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