My refusal to recovery

Each new season promises new beginnings.

As the page turns, I uncover this new season.

Every page turned is a pure gamble at fate.

With each story, written on each page, is a lesson, a consequence, a memory.

In this scrapbook of life,

there are pictures and letters i dream of taking back,

to remove them from the walls of this heart to never be seen again, all memory demolished.

For the time wasted learning in ways that weren't necessary.

For every touch that wasn't yours.

For every fear and tear that kept me from pushing forward.

This is my refusal to recovery.

My refusal to recover from these bullet wounds assumed from every incident tossed into these hands.

Time i cannot stop and moving backward i cannt do.

Great apologies run through my marrow,

yearning to give you all of me,

to take back every dead end street walked down,

to disregard all grand mistakes.

This is my refusal to recovery.

My refusal to recover from the broken promises and morbid mishaps.

Scene after scene tends to often disarm a bomb, pull a trigger, pour salt into a wound.

In my nature, i cause such a mess.

In my nature, i grow and shape.

My characteristics keep on a list, constantly being added onto.

I promised myself.

Life's cruel intentions i will never again fall for.

I laugh at myself, cry at myself, cut at myself.

This is my refusal to recovery.

My refusal to recover from every person, emotion and situation that has peered into the depths of this heart.

Every dead end street.

Every morbid mistake.

Every drowning by tears.

Every scream of torment.

I'm ready to re-live my broken scrapbook of life.

To remember every one thing that lead me to this moment, this place.

This feeling.

This person.

This is my refusal to recovery.

My refusal to recover from this true, mad love.

A weary journey gives magnificent rewards, and a beautiful love it has given me.

On this refusal to recover from your delicate hands,

i refuse to give up.

On life, on others, on us.

To truly recover from life would be selfish.

My refusal to recovery.

My refusal to recover from the awaking of a dream, a whisper, a smile.