Lately, I've been really into leaving things behind.
Blame it all on the fact that I was cheated of a family to call mine—
Parents who only knew to love poorly.
I have loved a hundred times worse, surely.
Now I spend my days trying to forget certain parts of my life.
Every sin I ever enacted was an attempt to fill the void.
I know that sounds like an excuse,
But it’s more than the truth—it's compulsive.
Sometimes I tear myself apart, just keep pulling and pulling.
I can’t remember when the sadness began,
Or if I was just born with it.
Honestly,
I have pasts inside of me I can’t seem to bury properly.
I try to move on in life,
Unfortunately, the grief is as heavy as it is haunting.
I dream of going home again and reconnecting with my family,
But the pessimistic voice inside always seems to stop me
Before I’m too far into imagining.
God must have thought I needed a couple angels to watch over me.
L'appel du vide binds and tortures me.
Il neige, le décor s'écroule, maman.
Qu'as-tu fait de ma vie?
EVERYTHING POSTED TO PERPETUAALLMOTHER.COM IS CONSIDERED PUBLISHED
AND PLAGIARISM OR THEFT COULD RESULT IN LEGAL ACTION
Comments