As I'm looking through these pages, re-reading my old statements.
There's something in every word I write that always takes me back to when I was sixteen.
A kid that's dreaming of a life I still don't have.
Is there something more for me than every day stuck on repeat in a job that doesn't make me happy.
Have I been pushing pen to paper instead of catching up on sleep? I'm overthinking every word that I write down.
Am I outdated? Fresh ink fading like a name etched in the concrete of our neighbourhood, that I can't read anymore.
These days I don't feel anything except the emptiness inside of my chest.
I keep reasoning with that voice inside of my head that said you're taking too long, get a grip before it's gone.
Have I been chasing a lie?
I can't decide if my choices are right
Have I been wasting my time
Am I wasting my time
I can't decide but I'll keep an open mind