So this is it, right?
This is my tragic circle
The pattern that I follow
Until slowly it pulls me under
And I drown.
This is my life, right?
Except the choices aren't my own
Because I choose to care
I choose to love
And things fall apart so quickly again.
These are my thoughts, right?
But they don't feel like my own
Because regardless of my freedoms I have
I feel so trapped in sadness.
So this is it, right?
My pitifully tragic circle
Where I push to much
And pull too little
Until there's nothing left of me
YOU ARE READING
The Lonely Hour
PoetryNot everything rhymes Not everything has to Of all that is bright And what hides in darkness The loving The hiding The living The Binding It hurts us not To follow a purpose To quell our minds dullness And to find our own fullness. Of sentences Of...
