[Eternal]

So here goes, 
One last letter now.
One last attempt to make sense.
Who have I been writing to?
I'm not sure anymore.
What have I been trying to accomplish?
It's a mystery, I guess. Self-made secrecy.
Things get cloudy and now all these stories

The struggle as an undercurrent, both get blurry By the minute both get blurrier.

So, Which voice is this then that I've been writing in?
Is it my own or his?

Has there ever been a difference between them at all?


I don't know I don't know. 



One last desperate plea. One last verse to sing. One last laugh track to accompany the comedy.

Have I been losing it completely? Losing sanity? Or has it been fabricated, fashioned by the worst of me?

I know I knocked the table over
Because I watched the jar break
and I've been trying to repair it every single stupid day
But won't the cracks still show
No matter how well it's assembled
Can I ever just decide to let it die and let you go?


All my motives and every single narrative below reflects that moment when it broke
And will I never let it go
 no matter what?
Now I am throwing all the shards away, discarding every fragment, and fumbling
Uncertain towards a curtain call that no one wants to happen,
That no ones going to clap for at all
But that still has to be.