Part 3.

by retrodiction

I don’t know how to make you understand

That this is not at all who I am.

Should I contemplate death by my own hand,

That is my crying wolf for a lone lamb.

None the braver but to peer off an edge,

Pounding hearts the veritable whisper,

Exposing my false empty words of fledge.

Time to right wrongs, I silently whimper.

Time to heal wounds I hoard like a miser.

Time to fall, time to end, time to begin again.

Yet time does make me none the wiser.

A wish to will a way, with much chagrin,

An exit from life’s winding labyrinth.

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