Sins of A Confessionalist

Tue, 06/09/2015 - 08:20 -- Sylis
Pardon me if I regret this
Father, these are my confessions
I'm selfish, reckless, and restless
Pleas fall on deaf ears from friends that once were mine
I suppose that's just how time flies
They say the healer of all wounds is time
Some of my wounds will never know healing
And I suppose that's fine
But even my shadow fears the darkness in my heart and mind
And my reflection has run away from this visage of mine
I suppose this happiness is just a mirage of mine
No, I'm not happy
But I make do when I have to.
Perhaps, I'm forever stuck in the past
Wishing for things that could've and should've last
If only I had played my cards right
Doubtless, even though we're on opposing sides of this booth
I can't trust you with even part of the truth
Much less, the whole of it
Then again, I couldn't trust myself with it
So, I've locked it, hid it, for the rest of eternity
I suppose you could say "That's not helping me."
I guess not.
But I make do when I have to.
Because that's what makes me...me.
This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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