One, two, three

let me lay in bed and count.

four, five, six

the mistakes I've made with you.

seven, eight, nine

I would take them all back.

ten, eleven, twelve

each one just as bad as the last.

thirteen, fourteen, fifteen

each one replays again, again, again.

sixteen, seventeen, eighteen

I miss an opportunity, again.

nineteen, twenty, twenty-one

I say the wrong words, again.

twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four

I make things awkward, again.

One hundred fifty-six, one hundred fifty-seven, one hundred fifty-eight

I do it wrong, wrong, wrong, again, again, again.

Five hundred, six hundred, seven hundred

all wrong, all me, all again, over and over and over.

eighty thousand, nine hundred thousand, one million.

Me, me, me, not good enough, not right, just wrong, screwup, mess up, not a single right thing.

The count never ends, the regret doesn't stop, the sadness is what fills me, but I trudge on.

Because love, true love, is not a mistake.

This poem is about: 



I love this poem so much. I believe that it is an outstanding poem. It's really amazing how you can explain your feeling like that through a poem.

 In many ways I can also relate to this. I can't even count how amny times I have felt like this.

Vincent Drimur

I dont know why I never replied to you. I used this comment as bragging points for so long! Thabks for the support!

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