Maybe there's a moment, a place in time where we stand in the mirror looking at our younger selves.
It's truly difficult to begin to explain, why you did what you did, maybe you arn't really happy with where you are. That fruitlessly, calmly you stress that life could've been different. But those words are met by a daily routine, the tug of dark circles under your eyes. The fresh scar above your left eye, maybe, it could've been different.
Looking back in an instant.
The rowdiness of youth, tempered into silent contempt.
The words unsaid, turned into chances not taken.
Those 'what ifs' turning into reasons of blame.
Blame me, blame myself.
Maybe for what I've done, but fuck it I made the most of it.
I was dealt a dead man's hand and came out swinging.