Miscarriage of the mind, like something once alive dying on the inside. It was described as a dream deferred or a wish never made, something truly desired but not contemplated. I am here dying daily to the dreams I need held hostage to the thought that having me begging for a do over or two where my choices don't involve not even one thought of you. You barring down on my neck like the weight of the world, whispering softly in the night kill yourselves that will make it alright. That raggedy voice that has me rethinking my game, because in order for me to thrive I will need to change my name. I will call myself hope as this is all i crave along with the desire for direction as I slip into old age, I didn't think I could do it like losing a child, we are aching inside yet we still smile, pretending it will be okay as the pain is a constant remainder that nothing will ever be the same. I lost you.
