I've always run from my feelings, a guilt, and never have I stayed to look back there. My feet kept running till I couldn't then, and again and again, I still run, ran. I'm not really sure what consumes me still, perhaps loneliness I always supposed, and still I'm unsure what gnaws at me still, my feet have stopped, but my heart still has not. It aches, it lingers, it waits, but for what? Again, I still sit there, unsure, always.

Even when surrounded by friends it drags, Even when loved dearly it lingers there. Just outside of my own periphery, a shadow which reflects the light, it pulls. Will my heart never be satiated? Will I ever really rest? Is it guilt? Is it longing? Is it the past haunting? I'm not too sure. My heart is unsteady. Most of all, I fear my very own self. I perhaps am not the man I thought I'm. I perhaps am not the man I once was.

That scares me, these self doubts, erodes me, draws. That scares me, who I never really was, and what does that mean to me, who is me?

In my loneliest moments, I feel peace. In my most joyous of moments, I doubt. Can I find that happiness that I sought, or perhaps is redemption lost to me? A irredeemable soul, a lone one, one which is never meant to see the light. Perhaps I am now happiest alone, since there's no one I can hurt, withering.

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The flowers I've grown seemingly now wilt, and those that blossomed I have now quick cut, and perhaps that is no one's fault but mine. And what of it? And what of it? I'm sin. Gilded, trying, lacking, I fail, now, then.

Gilded, trying, lacking, I fall, now, then.

I try so hard, I really do, yet still. Yet still. I seemingly fall short again. Why is that? Am I afraid of success? Am I dissatisfied with this ending? Eve with it's glow, the finalle in sight?

Perhaps that's right, but I'll try once again, maybe my happiness will come at last.

Perhaps that's right, but I'll try once again, I push this boulder up the hill, then fall. This is my punishment, this is my task. I know I'll find happiness one springs day. And perhaps then I will no longer long. The shadow of who I was still haunts me, the shadow of who I am will soon too, but I'll keep moving, changing, improving, and then one day I'll be proud, so, I seek.

I dream of being someone I'm proud of, and although I am not yet, I will try. I still try, I tell myself that still, grasp.