I've made several. Some large. Some small.
None that I'm proud of. I hate they're my fault.
From most I have learned, albeit too late.
Could they have been prevented, or is it just fate?
Due to my errs, alone here I sit.
Mad at myself. So mad I could spit.
Believe it or not, I do care. I do love.
I do have emotions. Not seen through this mask.
But I feel I must say, no, may I ask.
How long do you think, you'll hold on to the past?