My mind is not calm,
Inside there is a storm.
A swarm of angry hornets,
With nowhere to go.
How was I supposed to know,
That things would be this way?
This is my life of mourning,
Lamenting every day.
I keep digging up the graves,
Of my memories put to rest.
Late in the night my shovel,
Lay dirty on my chest.
Why can't I let go,
Of things left to rot?
I hate holding on so tightly,
To things I should've forgot.
