Vast and unkind, it throws me back and forth.
It's my own self-destruction I'm feeding, rather than nurturing.
I can't seem to look past my own scars to amount to anything my heart does.
I don't believe there's much out there for me, and I'm too afraid to take it into my own hands and try.
I won't create a self judgement to portray kindness because I am a cracked vase tipping off the edge of a table.
Where are my hopes and my ambitions that fed my not-so-apathetic heart.
I'm feeling nauseous with the fear that I will always be stuck in these muddy boots.