These arms of comfort
I’ve depended on so long
Slowly are pushed away by this anchor of mentality.
Holding down for awhile,
Rusting over,
And gradually slipping away.

I have no control over this cycle of time,
This bound fate my mind overbears the superiority of.
My heart has no say,
Nor right to position;
Only the substandard presence,
Of which the illogical argument hides.

In a courtroom full of baring witness,
My defense is portrayed upon the stand.
Without a word said,
Or a thought complete,
I stand at fault
For every mile of distance I have put between us.
And as the the lawyer persists to ask
The same persistent question,
I remain persistent with each answer.
“I’m sorry”.

 
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