Rereading old journals,
Rereading old poems.
What makes one hurt enough to write such words?
What makes one tempted enough to revisit such hurt?
Writing those words of pain didn't expunge the hurt from my mind—
It just passed it from my mind to the page.
Everytime I read those words, the hurt is thrown back into my mind.
So why do I enable this game?
Why do I enable this self-destruction & sabotage?
Do I crave the release this badly?
Where do you go when your demise is what's giving you serenity?
{copyright 2019 madame-santana.}