When did arrows penetrate my armor?
When did I throw myself away?
When did I believe I shouldn’t be saved from any punishment?
Bad.
Bad.
I was a good as a kid before I found empty boxes where my laughter lived.
When did sharpened thorns choke light?
When did I decide to live through this darkened life?
When did decide my notebooks cared?
See how I’ve fared?
Bad.
Bad.
Self-hate instead of mass destruction.
Self-sabotage instead of learning to function.
When did I decide reaching out was smart?
When did I start thinking maybe the pain will stop?
Here it is, the pattern of thunderstorms I’ve been chasing will I submit and cut ties or practice patience.
Say when.
What I do in defeat might mean my end.
