I couldd represent a million different things.
But insteadd.. nothhing.
My life is a blank slate for anyone who touchhes my heart to markk upon.
Leaving their own personal signature.
But I'm too forgiving.
Letting people who write in pen continuously scribble f*** ups and wrong turns all over me.
They sayy I shouldd learn from your mistakkes.
But no one undderstandd that my lessons are writtin in penceil.
And I leave the big eraser laying righht next to them.
History repeats itself if nothhing is learnedd.
And that fact leaves no survivors.
My heart recordds who helps ease the growing pain..
An they are never forgotten.
Even if they're the one causing it.
My natural highh..
It's badd for me.. But it seems to help everythingg.
This is an addiction from the heart.. An I can't seem to shake it.
I need him.
I have no more will power.
No more motivationn.
No.. that was lost somewhere in my fall.
Most likly when I grew up faster than recommendded.
My anger is always bottled for laterr use.
Never slowly releasedd.
So forgive me if you've done nothingg wrongg.
I'm not myselff anymore. -Nor will I ever be..
So I guess I'll just have to learnn how to soothe the new me.