When I feared for safe
I wasn’t concerned if my actions would fit in a box
I did what I had to so I could know tomorrow.
I wish myself away. I wished myself away.
But now I search for the who-I-am’s in every memory,
search for memories in every deja vu
and search for feeling in every empty moment
my mind chose to delete.
Because I am a typo
My life was a typo and nothing made sense
until paper wouldn’t let me forget.
I say ‘let me forget’ until I do forget.
Until I would do it again to have a memory.
because my slate is wiped so clean
How many times will I be convinced that my life is worth living before I become unconvince-able?
Why did you fail me? Why am I able to be failed?