The Problem Is Me

folding
There’s nothing left inside
Neither strength nor compassion
Peace nor prosperity
Love not hate
Just a fishing line with no bait
I’m dining a restaurant without a plate
I have the will, but lack the tools
Compassion, but without the mood to do
Love, but the animosity towards cowardice
It may seem as hate
So many people to call out, I’m left exhausted
Eight to ten people clamoring for my place
I can write until Titan collides with the moon
I can write until I finally receive the solution
To my pain
I can write until I finally feel accomplished
But nothing can fill the hole she left
No accolade can mend this broken bridge
No action
Except to drive off of it
And be allowed to forget it even existed
Let’s face it, I’m never to find her
Not with such combustible personality
Quick to anger as I’m quick with words
Slow to catch on as I’m fast to bring the action
Chasing my own tail, the problem is me
My own tales, my own fails, my own mess
All weighing down a once eager chest
Now I take my time around corners
I’ve been shot in the back before
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