A sight of a suicide: mistakes (part 1)
Mistake after mistake,
I fall,
stumbling into the holes,
the damned depressions of the road I took.
Getting up day after day,
night after night,
choice after choice,
patiently waiting for the day the wicked shall rise.
But what if there is no rise,
no glory,
only a seemingly incurable sadness,
that we hardly bear since our birth?
Because, whenever I look back,
the dark past torments my mind,
revealing a twisted path,
a path built in pain,
and mistakes.
And they hurt me down at the bottom of my heart,
seeing you like that,
feeling you like that,
and hurting you like that.
I’m sorry my dear,
I couldn't, I know I couldn't make it,
there were promises and there were failures
there were ecstasy and then,
in a blink of an eye,
there were agony.
Isn’t love like that?
Torture and peace are lines of the same route,
designed to confuse the weak,
the ones who believe that passion is not related to suffering,
the ones with just one point perspective.
Mistakes speak for themselves,
they confuse,
they abuse,
and they make you blind.
Or maybe blindness is the responsible for our mistakes,
but what could cause that all?
Love, anger, hate, money?
No, no, no.
There are not reasons enough to compensate,
mistakes are just mistakes,
programmed since ever by our minds,
created by our weak nature.
And by that, I failed with you my old man
You have always tried to open my eyes,
so I could be able to see through the darkness,
learning from my mistakes,
and stepping up for the opportunities.
Always trying to teach me the difference of wisdom,
and intelligence,
things I was never able to discern,
and I will never do.
I have done everything as told,
I have carefully observed my masters,
my friends,
and my enemies.
I have tried to learn with them,
to evolve with them,
but in the end, I embraced their mistakes as my own,
failing in the test of wisdom.
I have run and run like hell,
trying to keep up with myself,
searching for a solution to my problems,
but I ended up opening the doors of my mind,
permitting my mistakes to control me.
They have built a house in my heart and soul,
and even though they were once a known enemy,
I can’t distinguish them anymore,
right or wrong just seem the same.
Friends are just a distant memory,
at least that is what the pictures say.
I could say sorry, my dear,
but does it really matters?
Whatever was done is done,
and from now on,
we just have to go with the flow.
And then, the flow carries my intelligence
to the depths of this bloody river,altogether with my sanity,
bound to the wreckage of my mind.
And once my sanity is gone,
I can’t do anything my darling,
because as you have read,
I failed in uncountable aspects,
so many that even my mistakes,
my fatal errors,
are now a part of me.
And for a boy who couldn't forget them,
I am no wiseman,
neither astute,
I am just a wicked man,
drowned in my mistakes,
and guilt.