Realizing how flawed everything was,

everything was standing on thin ice.

No foundation ever built,

we were only awaiting destruction.

Being broken on the outside is damn fixable,

but being broken inside is irreversible.

Shallow minds and insecurities.

Pride and utter immaturity.

How was I able to live through lies?

Or was it I who chose to be blind?

Ever choosing the brighter side,

not acknowledging the slightest hint of abyss.

Despite the truth that I truly despise everything,

but the thing I hate the most was my weak self.

I can no longer hold on to the makeshift reality,

Slowly slipping away,

slowly broken apart.

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places." - Ernest Hemingway