Guilt.
A constant reminder of what’s wrong.
Leading to life being preoccupied by never ending self-destruction.
Always trying to escape always dragged back;
Like a cycle, but it’s just my nature.
I suppose it’s just how my parents raised me,
Little praise, “good job” if I’m lucky,
Fall a little behind, “how dare you?”
Plenty of bragging, I hate to hear.
A forgotten phone call, silence till tomorrow.
The worry, I sleep it off, wondering if I’ll hear nothing,
The cycle begins again as my body mimics it, my hearing leaves me.

Others.
Others must be first, always first.
One step before them, a week of guilt and everlasting flashbacks.
Alone, its worse, just me, myself and the memories.
When it strikes, a bolt of lightning fills your insides; leaving you uneasy.
My memory fails me, yet I remember every wrong word.
The worst are the times missed, it’s not my fault, it has to be.

Repression.
It comes next, the occurrence of yesterday seems two weeks away,
Two weeks past.
My mind, it trained itself to constantly repress.
Everything becomes a blur, it hurts trying to remember,
So I stay empty minded, till the cycle begins again.