By: Cindy Moon
I'll love myself more tomorrow, but not much more than yesterday.
I'll love myself even more when I find the surer way.
But how can I
When all I do when I'm wrong is spit it back in your face?
I don't bother with your help; resentment does the bliss replace.
It's funny.
So vulnerable I am when you tell me you love me, when you help me fly,
yet if you leave no sad tears for you would I allow myself to cry.
So quick to act with vengeance and its sweetness in my veins,
yet I cannot hold the grudge for I'm so frightened of the pain.
Where do I have to go?
My sarcastic tone no longer is amusing.
I tend to be lost; it's so lonely and confusing.
My life's unfair scarred with death and sorrow.
In the end it's more faith I truly need to borrow.
Does the cycle ever stop?
Save me from my quicksand,
should my gravity be the untimely end.
Save me from the match I light that'll burn me at my stake,
but worry not my countenance tells you I'm okay though the happiness is fake.
I guess I'll still love myself even more tomorrow.
I just hate it that you know.