If an accident is what defines me, and I make quite plenty, what would that say about me? Perhaps that I'm just a fraud, a mistake.

With each promise I make, another one breaks; is that truly what it means to live, Can't stay true yet let it hurt you?

Thoughts of the future send me into a frenzy, spinning, circling, brain overwhelmed like a fried circuit. I don't wish to think of the future, what lies ahead is a threat.

The past never leaves no matter how much you try, it comes crawling back. It's rather persistent in such a way in which it aims to destroy your mental till you're weak on your knees, panting and grasping for any semblance of mercy.

Control is hard to gain, it trickles down your hand like sand. When you think you've got it, it's gone.

When you can't control, you become impulsive, destructive, you destroy. You search for a way to control any aspect of your life even if it means isolation or destruction.

Friends are temporary, solitude is forever. Take into consideration, everything ends eventually, nothing lasts forever. Let that be your motivation to not get your hopes up for anything because it'll inevitably cause you pain.