Thinking

I used to be happy.
Now I’m just stuck in stupidity.
Thinking that I could lead a strong life.
Thinking I could be adventurous. Thinking that my friends would stick around without the drugs and alcohol.
Thinking that people respected each other like I respected them.
Thinking that he would still care for me the morning after.
Thinking that everyone I loved would never die.
Thinking the hangover would never come.
Thinking that people meant what they said when they made promises.
Thinking that the world would give me a sign.
Thinking that it was just that easy to escape.
Thinking that I was trustworthy and spiritual.
Thinking that he heard me when I shouted no.
Thinking that he would finally walk away when I said goodbye.
Thinking that I was confident with what I was doing.
Thinking that the night would never end.
Thinking that time could heal pain.
Thinking that memories could fade.
Thinking that the scars would vanish.
Thinking I could hold onto happiness.
Thinking thinking thinking and all I have to show for it is a stack of papers and a pen that is slowly running out of ink.

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