Feeling half empty,

Slowly being drained.

Searching for my happy place,

But instead I carry the weight of my past,

Refusing to let it go.

Why?

Hoarding all those memories,

Unable to forget.

The good, the bad, the depressing,

and of course the ones that make me mad,

I have to have them all.

Not one gets to escape.

Every now and then,

They try to get away,

But instead of saying goodbye,

I chase them down and

lock them up.

I’ll be half empty till I die.

 

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