awkward

To: Those I let slip through my fingers,

Can life become more then a residual dream?
A place to find comfort.
A place to shade away the ugliness
and discoloration of dishonesty.
To push forward what is good and
aid in the termination of pain and anger.

I stop and look at myself, and my
role in the clouded madness just
before I allow myself to step right
into it. I stop and wonder, if I will
be one that helps or one that promotes.

But, I am no special being,
with will as weak as the next.

I weaved my own existence
out of experiences that I keep with
me, silently craving for
change and freedom.

But, at what cost?

I can be such an ugly person
at times.
Selfish, inconsiderate, and
deserving of the alienation that
has been my way of life.

I cry over my own experiences
of pain, but I neglect to realize
the times I have hurt others.
Like, some nave child, I stare
wide eyed and blank.
But, I am neither a child nor nave.

But, apologies are empty when
I had the power to change
the path. So, I ask for no apologies
and face the consequences of my actions.