Up to this point I’ve written a sad story.
No love for life, no guts, no glory.
Been mourning since morning,
Clouds forming, rain pouring.
Paint pictures of life storming.
All around me I’m sounding astoundingly troubled.
But no, I know, not faking it though.
The things I have felt and dealt with are real.
I said it because I meant it.
And I meant what I said
I have pled for years,
Fled from fears,
Shed some tears.
And the time I’ve wasted to the moments I have tasted what it could be like.
If life could be right, like I thought it might be.
It’s likely it won’t be anything like I dreamed.
And sometimes it seems that might not be a bad thing.
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