Sometimes, I cry myself to sleep, wishing that I could re-write my life. If only the cascading tears could wash away the stains of my past, I’d squeeze my tear ducts out until they give up.
Sometimes, I wish for the strength to boldly march along the pavements of my disturbing mind, to face this deadly battle once and for all, and to put an end to the resonating echoes of my personal demons.
Sometimes, I pray to God to send me an angel, to help me get through. I pray that he’ll hear my battle cry and know that I cannot face this on my own without scathing myself.
Sometimes, I hope that someone out there would listen to me, delve in and fathom my most intimate thoughts and understand that I am only human; I make mistakes that I’m not proud of, mistakes that I regret every single day.
Sometimes, I escape reality and bury myself in solitude for fear of rejection. I’m afraid that if all of my sins are laid down before me, no one will be there to accept me for who I am and what I have done.
Sometimes, I need to accept the cold truth that all I have is myself.