Out of the spinning spiral of life,
Stems the mist of muddled mix ups
Living with the constant ticking of time
I sometimes lose sight of the crux
Cringing within, at my dishevel,
I boot myself out of my stupor
To trim my toxic self-reproach
But misery is a constant intruder
Lifting my spirits seems futile
It is not for want of trying
Imprinted in my heart and soul
Is the incapability of striving
The hurt and the pain of the past
Shipped slowly at my core
While I moon at a moment of joy
Sorrow slowly begins its gore.
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