Poem:The candor of a broken heart

I sit with myself, I have conversations with myself, I berate myself, I commend myself.

I sit with myself,
I have conversations with myself,
I berate myself,
I commend myself.
 
I think of times past,
I ponder upon laughs shared,
I muse about arguments forgiven,
I simper at those forgotten.
 
I concede my wrongdoings,
I forgive yours.
I wonder how?
I wonder why?
 
I fail to fathom why,
My conception loathes to accept,
To accept the candor that is.
The candor that it is finished.
 
Again, I berate myself.
Again I commend myself.
Moreover, I confuse the device of thought.
Worse, that which pumps sanguine,
It beats to the rhythm of a rock lullaby,
 
O! How I long to smile yet again,
How I long to watch the reflection of self.
Yes, in those pools of brown that pizzazz me times and again
 
Is it time to run along?
Should I lay in wait?
Must I culminate all feeling?
I know not.
I feel a lot.

 

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