I wish I could stab a knife into it to dull the pain,
to easy my misery.
My sighs are deep and heavy,
filled with hopelessness.
My lungs are filled with the air's poison of uncertainty and heartache.
I try to calm myself to relax my mind, my body.
But the panic only sinks in deeper.
There is nothing I can do about the past-yet I still find myself trying to change it.
Why? Why don't you get it?
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