Poetically inclined.
I perfectly unwind.
But I find it hard to find...

that I’m still here through all these years.
That every attempt was just that, an attempt.
Well, it seems as though it was the worst end

to the worst day.
I find it hard to say
that I haven’t really found a way.

Just that blade.
The way it could make me fade.
And forget existing,
I’m a wave.

Or so I thought.

At first I felt like every battle lost
was already won,
as if I had already fought.

That’s a lie.
Just keep repeating the same line:
why.
But does it really matter if its not
inside?