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The scales of balance that touch my soul perturb me

with its vascillations between choices, thoughts, judgments,

and reviews of memory.

The relationship between two and its constant use

of these scales is starting to wear the scales down,

with the once heavy side of the good popping up off the ground

because actions start making heavy the side where doubt

is weighty, questions of whether it'll all work out

are daily, and the weight of regret and the long-term consequence

of my action

makes me want to cry.

Not for myself will these tears fall,

but for those involved in the crash and burn pictured upon the wall.

For the picture that once represented our future

is damaged by

a million tiny paper cuts

and I don't know if there's anything that can fix it.

What is it about

memory,

hope,

need,

wishing,

history

colored

by roses

that creates such a tie so strong and suffocating, 

yet so comfortable that it is frightening to break that tie?

Death comes slowly for me,

and I've been told that it doesn't have to be this way...

but I am not sure that I have the strength to free myself from it this time.