Despair…despair. Such a depressing word.
Cuts through flesh like a sharpened sword.
And mine’s in tatters lying on the floor.
I’m done. I’m dead. Now let me mourn.
The loss of myself and who I could be.
The acceptance of what others set out for me.
My inability to take my leave,
Because I can’t hurt others, so I’ll just hurt…me.
I’m a lie. I’m a fake. A selfish wraith.
Not the woman I dreamt of, a woman with faith.
In love. In life. In truth or in fate.
So now it’s time to clean this slate.