Lately, I’ve only been wanting to write a personal story; something with a moral. However, when I start to type, all that flows are poems. This isn’t a bad thing, it’s just strange. I talked to someone yesterday, and their decisions, once again, broke my heart. I hope they find their way. Unfortunately, I can’t help them anymore.
If you’re not careful, the ones you love won’t help you anymore.
If you keep destroying bridges, you’ll never find complete boards.
If you let them down one more time, their hearts will turn cold.
The people who loved you, won’t love you anymore.
You take for granted their patience and time.
Their advice, their opinions, their forgiveness, their dimes.
You believe you’re never wrong. You believe the world owes you it’s life.
The truth is the world owes you nothing, and you’re never right.
Your life is a carousel. You’re dizzy. You can’t see.
But you’ll never dismount. Your denial is a deep sea.
You jump from one dysfunction to another.
Each mess more tragic than the other.
People morn for your existence. They cry for your peace.
They hold to the moments of who you might be.
It’s sad. It’s dreadful, to watch this scene.
If only the channel would change.
If only this were TV.