As the years pass
And memories grow old
The less and the less I know
And I like to be certain
And swear my life on things
But the story is never how I thought
It would be
It only leads me to discovering
The truth behind my path
Less like a means to an end
And more like a story I wrote by accident
The crumbling keeps happening over
And over again
And it's never comfortable nor covenient
But it is something I promise myself to understand
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Author:
anabasova (
Offline) - Published: September 13th, 2026 14:06
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3

Offline)
Comments1
Here the feeling of self destruction having written one's crumbling present. Nicely done
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