Letting go of my memories,
I feel the skies crashing all over me,
Endless cries for help inside,
No one can help or understand.
Only I can face the demons of my past,
Only I can make it not last,
I have to fight back
The overthinking,
My brain is my prison cell,
My memories are my personal hell.
It punishes me for my prior actions,
Remembering who and when hurt me,
It drives me insane; I want to stop,
My mind won't let me live in the present,
Something is comforting in self-pity,
Even if you're digging your pit.
The voices in my head say:
Why don't you lit yourself on fire,
You ugly compulsive liar?
The lies you live in, and you know it's not true,
Still, you decide to stay and dig your own grave,
Deeper and deeper and now you can't stop.
I am stuck in the prison of my mind,
Why is it difficult to stop, to break the habit?
I can run from the present but I can't hide forever,
My fear of the future lures me into my past.
Hastily I try to get out,
Failing and failing,
I continue descending into my abyss of reminiscence.
I have lived in the past for an eternity,
Facing my regrets,
the words I have and have not said,
The choices I have and have not made.
If you live unhappy for an eternity,
How do you know how happiness feels?
When everything leaves you
what do you hold on to?
The beliefs, your faith, it was all wrong,
You became too attached, too caring,
You broke yourself inside,
Embracing what has been
when everything was still okay,
It's the sole consolation you'll find.
Why does your brain make you focus on the bad?
Why do you continue getting sad?
It doesn't let you enjoy the moment,
And you make one wrong choice after another.
Digging your grave one by one,
Only the present can save you,
You are sinking deeper and deeper,
Everything becomes meaningless,
Your memories turn into a tangled mess.
If you told anyone
They wouldn't understand anyway,
How hard it is to fight your past demons,
How your brain doesn't let you escape.
Your memories are your personal hell,
You are locked in your psychological cell,
Only you can decide to live or die,
Let them win or lose
Depends on what choices you choose.
YOU ARE READING
Red Roses and Black Crows
PoetryThe red blood of what we fought, the tears and the hard work crumbled apart, and the ashes of rebirth. Red rose, the love and passion, and the black crows of freedom and change, we had to break apart and transform, to become who we are today. And th...
