Sometimes

Sometimes,
I think of the dreams I never had,
I remember the love I never felt,
And I wonder why I feel so bad,

Sometimes,
I look at the knife,
Clutched in my hand,
And wonder how I threw away my life,

Sometimes,
I stare at the scars,
Etched both physically and mentally,
And wonder how it got this far,

Sometimes,
When the syringes lie scattered on the floor,
And the beer cans have overflowed the bin,
I wonder if I can take any more,

Sometimes,
I look at the photos of the happy child,
And looking in the mirror,
I wonder how those innocent eyes could’ve become so wild.