I lay on my bed soaking my pillow with my tears;
I try to remember exactly what it is that I fear.
Is it the passing of time or the love that I lack?
Is it the mistakes that I’ve made or the fact that I can’t bring the past back?
What is it that I’m afraid of?
Why am I so scared?
Is it the people I’ve hurt or the people that have hurt me?
Am I afraid of everything that I can’t seem to see?
Is it the love of a friend, or the loss of my family?
Is it the possibility that my life can end in a tragedy?
What is it that I fear most?
What do my eyes say I’m scared of?
Is it the sun that sets but won’t seem to rise?
Is it the hope that I have that always seems to die?
Is it the trust of a person that I cannot begin to grasp?
Is it all the memories of my horrid past? Is it me?
Can it possibly be that the thing I fear most is the thing I can’t be?
The things that I try to understand?
The me that I try to be with when I’m feeling sad?
The person I’m expected to be? Is that what I fear?
. . . I think the thing I fear most . . . is me