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incomplete
every assignment, every notion, every fanciful goal, every expectation and of course every task started finality is but a lost hope. everything that I meant to say, every thought, every action just diminishes in the endless pile of procrastination that grew bigger with my plentiful amount of self-sabotage. Reaping in the fleeting and fast escaping benefits of self indulgence, The stress of it all starts to creepily cast over me like a ominous and looming black cloud Deterring all my complacency and smug excuses, A dark and inevitable reminder of all that has been defiantly left incomplete.
wrath
The wrath of an apparent "nice girl", May there be an abundance of mercy on you, sweet as pie with poison laced berries, You soured her sweetness with your unwavering and indignant bitterness, She did not warn you because she did not know that deep within herself there was such a recipe for destruction, The only notion you're left with is deciphering the index card she left behind with all the ingredients and measurements of faltered grace
secluded
Seeing you stare through me is imprisonment without just cause, I incriminate myself and plead guilty, Perhaps to lead a life secluded from you, Feeling complete isolation to negate being barred in by my own fears of complacency, A seclusion so deep, so dark, that our supposed love can't even be etched in the concrete walls of the prison you locked me in, Did you lock me in... Or did I have the key this whole time?