Life with Lo

It’s a curse of the ifs,

a curse of the ifs.

Take me back to the cliffs,

back to the cliffs.

–

I feel sunken

and broken.

I’m drowning;

no floating.

I was soaring in the clouds;

my words so energetic and loud.

Now, here I am,

it all feels like a scam.

–

How could it be over?

How could it die that quickly?

I probably could’ve fixed things.

I probably could’ve done much more.

I know it’ll all be below expectations,

and I blame myself for what I’m facing.

The guilt is rampant,

and no one understands.

They say it was magic,

but they don’t build with my hands.

–

A vision was clear,

and it only came close to fruition.

I should’ve changed things around,

should’ve trusted my intuition,

because look at me now.

Crying and laying around,

silently screaming ”How?”

–

It’s the perfectionism.

Call it that,

or call it some sort of unbalanced wisdom.

Either way you spin it,

I remain the victim.

Oddly enough,

I’m also the killer.

A malicious cycle;

a twisted thriller. 

I do the hunting alone,

and the whining later.

It’s a feast for others,

and the pain is what they savor.

–

How could she be so ungrateful?

How could she be so saddened?

How could she be so misguided,

that she doesn’t even see

the many victories.

–

The sun set as a fiery blessing,

not a dry eye,

and the love was clear,

not a soul was guessing.

So to you, my dear?

When does it end?

When can you see 

out of others’ eyes?

You’d be very pleased,

and most surprised.

It’s all in your head 

and a battle you lose.

–

If I can beg you for one thing,

it’d be to keep this memory guarded.

To view and feel it with ease,

not as some lowly hardship.

Break the curse of the ifs,

the curse of the ifs.

Lay down at the cliffs,

down at the cliffs.