This particular season has come again.
One that is familiar, happens every now and then.
A time to feel what it's like to be human
Taste the pain one felt because of someone
Tears start to flow, self-pitying officially begins
Feeling sorry for oneself whatever that means
Dry pillows are bound to be wet
Tear stains are signs of dreams unmet
One looks around and sees things
Once upon a time was opened for lovely beings
Hair strands on the floor, stains on the walls
Dead reminders of once present souls
This very moment did not happen by force.
It's my own decision that's taken its course.
Do I choose happiness while losing my identity?
Or be miserable, yet set myself free?
Always the latter, always the latter
Make myself believe that it is for the better.
Has this defensiveness saved me from trouble?
Or has my stubbornness imprisoned me in my own bubble?
Please God, show me the way.
I am so tired for always having the say.
My pillows have mastered this recurring season.
Of this unfortunate behavior I call prison.
Tomorrow is another day to fight.
My logical self brings out all my might.
But for now, I hug my pillow tight.
Allow the sad little girl in me weep all night.
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