Mirror-facing, sin-gazing, redemption awaiting.
This whirlwind catches many, I’m somewhere in the net, stuck in zephyrs, face resembling a drunken specter

The bar is set high, I’ve been playing limbo - mistakes don’t let their “death grip” off my bones. Do I deserve a future if I tried to erase mine?

Don’t mind the vague terms, this is venting at its least explicit
I could be screaming at reflections for failing at seizing destiny, at least the afterimage of one...something desired long ago…

Marathons of erring memories take up space I don't have, take up space reserved for love, recreation, growth, et cetera, et cetera.

Someone tell the soul in my same situation to become absorbed in the now, accepting what was before and what may soon be...

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