Again With The Lies

Sharp little nails I sleep on at night.
Each a regret, a nightmare, a lie.
 
Toss and turn on this prickly bed.
No comfort when doubt lives.
 
I push back, I fail,
Relapse into old patterns.
 
Rebellion has yet to set me free.
Caged by painful repetition.
 
Success is a bird that soars.
Failure the chain buried in the ground.
 
Darkness tugs on tired eyes.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
 
Again with the lies.

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