Hours turn to days,
A certain regret that’s always followed me around,
Pretending to be fine,
Pretending everything is going to be alright,
Yes, my thoughts are too overwhelming.
But with a stifled mouth,
I still carry on,
Respite seems distant,
There’s no time to wallow in self pity,
Hoping someday this pain will cease,
Days turn to years,
An hour glass, of which I’m a prisoner
You probably think I’m fine.
Nothing seems invigorating enough,
A bellowing emptiness is all I feel,
The bottom of the pit is fast approaching,
A darkness so blinding and impenetrable,
Letting it enshroud me,
I had no other option,
Embracing this pain.
Running away is pointless,
Everything will be fine,
Desensitized to this familiar peril,
Don’t make the same mistake I did,
Years turn to an eternity and I still live in regret.