Maybe it's me
Maybe not
I think,
think hard so many times
if it's me who's done something terribly wrong.
I am in a puddle of mess,
the inner turmoil triggered.
I drink hot chocolate still thinking hard.
Problem is as I figure,
Words have started to feel like mere words
As sorry sounds like just a fiction nerd.
Such syllables that may carry emotions for the rest
I find them just manipulation at it's best
I grow tired of feeling things and being there for people
And giving up is starting to appear as a potential option
But my phase to give up subsides much quicker
than the thoughts that drain me day and night.
I end up feeling terrible as plots of holding on cloud my mind
Yet every cell in my body wants to retaliate
Maybe it's me
Maybe not
Am done with the lies I tell myself
yet the biggest one I am still telling myself
is that I have moved on
