Poems about fucking.

Here

You run from the pain
for it to grow in magnitude.
Active avoidance.
Passive solitude.
Repeat the neglect you suffered
in adolescence, pushing away any real chance for connection.

Chasing, running, roundabout avoidance
of your own struggles in spite of existence
plagued by depression - draining, persistent desire to run from the past, present.

Future denied, time is a lie to make you content with suffering, a mental peasant. The only way out is facing your doubt - authentic existence must be your obsession.

You can't go on like this, you'll die before you live with experiences missed and all that love to give to others gone wasted - potential doesn't exist.

For there to be progress, you have to persist.

The cave no longer serves you, you're living a lie.
To resurrect yourself, the wounded you must die.
Born again in the light of the present.