My reflection reminds me of memories, the way it changes and how as the days go by the past fades and I can barely remember who I use to be.
This new person in the mirror never knew who I was; and I can’t seem to find any resemblance in who I thought I’d become in the face staring back at me.
I’ve somehow derailed, detouring through a life that never seemed to suite my fancy. How did I get here? What have I become? Why am I so angry? Where did these tears come from?
A victim of self and a self-proclaimed villain. Did I miss out on being the heroine of my own story? Was she overcome by this sickening sum of self-pity and the high expectations that led us here to this tragedy?
I’ve traded the mystery for the mundane and I fear that this new sense of sanity is driving me insane; dreams now the only escape from this stagnant way of reality.
This needs to change, I refuse to let this writers block see to the end of me. I’m tired of letting this self doubt get the best of everything. I'm done with concerning over that which others think of me. This is my life, and I will live it however I damn well please.
To Hell In Handbaskets
· Fri Apr 19, 2013 @ 06:01am · 2 Comments