Often the questions weight in more heavily than they’re meant to be
And you find yourself crushed under them, tongue tied and helpless
Often they lose their rhetoric sense and force you to see
What life is and could’ve been as you lie buried under an abyss of mess.
It flashes in front of your eyes when you intended to detach them from visibility
What begins as a night innocent enough descents to a compilation of the loss
The repenting for people who left curtesy a lapse in your sensibility
Even though you know it is as futile as it can get, like waiting for flowers to grow on moss.
Hence the eyes, by now wide open, bemoan and the lips quiver
How can you not look back when the present became tedious and the future bleak?
You place your vision by the door, hopelessly anticipating a rescuer
Although you know that it’s foolish to fantasise, that you may never find what you seek.
Plummeting you to the deepest end and threatening to bury you down below
The pain goes midst the tearful reminiscing and the heartbreaking illusions
But almost mystically, you know when to pull yourself together and cease to wallow
And you know when to cut the strings and to calm your mind from the unpleasant fusions.
Perhaps that’s why it’s said that right choice is always the toughest one
And no wonder it takes you too long to listen to your heart
But when you do, the pessimism surrenders, it’s your soul who won
And your headstrong persona knows how to tell the good and bad apart.