I sometimes wonder how it is
to be a marble
deciding to roll towards
the choice of leaving or staying

the ones who choose to go away
always has the upper hand

because often the ones who do not have the choice
would have to stay rooted:
in the fury of the fierce winds
and the punishment of pouring storms
or the tribulation of floods, blizzards and forest fires
that only leave one’s heart
torn apart, and ripped open
a countless times

only to finally be at ease
or laid to rest
in a garden of nightmares.

All of my regret
Will wash away some how
But i can not forget
The way i feel right now


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