Reviving All Grave Encounters

Waiting for time to pass.
Waiting until I see the place I love to hate the most.

My time arrives.
It’s my point to break.

I’m stumbling through the door.
Forced here beyond my will,
I try to keep my composure and self-control.

There are broken locks on doors I can’t even use.
I try to remind myself of why I once thought this was good.

I comprise so many memories.
Yet those glimpses of the past are quick like the
Moves you make when the tune stops in musical chairs.

Always moving; always fading.

Angered by rudeness and conceit.
I struggle to hold my own and not give way to self-righteous decay.
Unanswered telephone calls and busy numbers make me even bitter.
Seeing signs of vagrant actions only met by emotions being used.

I would trade anything for the time to escape me, so now I’m stuck.
I’m here six times longer than I wanted to be and all I want is rest.