Losing my grip

The scars of my past run deep inside me,
Most things I will take to my grave,
I am keeping hold of present reality,
Not taking advantage, my breath I save.

What I sweep under the rug just piles up,
Piles up for all to see, I am ashamed,
Staring deep into my coffee cup,
Branded, labelled, named.

With only pictures of past happiness,
Although all smiles are faked,
I began to see my carelessness,
I always bottled out and flaked.

I now continue to stumble and fall,
Trying hard to correct mistakes,
But the marks will never come off the wall,
I do grin and bare for the difference it makes.

All my mirrors in my house are shattered,
Along with all my dreams,
Why can’t someone see how much this matters?
Always alone it seems.

My mind is dizzy, blurred with despise,
A blade held tight in my grip,
I can’t even handle my own sick lies,
I knew I’d finally slip