i always envied the birds in the sky.

to have wings powerful enough to carry you above the clouds,
to have the option of an escape whenever you get lost in the crowds;

i envied them.

then i began to think,
perhaps i too can fly.

so here i stand, two feet on the ledge.
i glance down at the pavement, soon to be cracked red.

averting my gaze to the birds in the sky,
i step off, knowing full well i won't fly.

redundant and replaceable,
like a wilted flower, waiting to be picked.
because i know that nothing but terror lies beyond.
as desperate as i am to convince myself that i am significant,
this malevolent cycle always brings me back to the same place.
the self-deception was refreshing while it lasted,
for it placed rose-tinted glasses upon the bridge of my nose,
distorting reality and planting within me a seed of malicious hope.
a seed that has always contorted into a sprout of desolation.
it grows until its vines enfold my heart and mind,
and to my bittersweet surprise
i am shaken to the core as i snap back into clarity.

forgive me.

for every drop of poison i spit,
for every glare i impale you with,

forgive me.

for every time i mercilessly tear you down,
for every time i force upon your face a frown,

forgive me.

for each time i made you think, "we'd be better off without her."
for each time you wanted to say, "could you be any more sinister?"

forgive me.

for every single tear i cry as i write this,
for every stab in my throat as i hold the sobs in,

forgive me.

i should know to not make the same mistake twice.

as i sit here pondering over where i went wrong
and where i didn't do right
the familiar feeling of regret clenches my chest
threatening to suffocate me from the inside out.

as i rest my head in my hands
i ask myself
"why?"
i seek something - anything - to blame
and yet, it only ever comes back to me.

me.
and me.
and me again.

the thought echoes throughout my mind
as it has done hundreds of times before.

the problem is me.

this longing for change only comes about when i'm drowning.
i take in lungfuls of bittersweet regret.

i should know not to do it twice
but here i am
bearing the pain of the same mistake