The Victim Depiction

I’ve no right to expect you to trust me.
I’m just trying to move on,
And own my actions justly.
Doing the best for my own mind,
Telling myself to just breathe.
But consequences must come
And so I understand you must leave.
Seems I’ve been a mountain lion mourning
For all these years.
Fake female scream,
With a convincing dash of tears.
Just my own way of justifying
The spread of abandonment and tears.
So addicted to the victim depiction
I forgot how to steer.
For I’m sure I’d like to fly away,
If I could only shake the weighted feeling
That draws my dark desire to die today.
Seems Sylvia Plath did the math right,
So I could easily make today
Serve as the last day of my past life.
But at least idols falling
Teaches tolerance,
And turns me towards a life calling.
Installing fewer frequencies,
I hope to hum like leaves in trees.
Fresh fed or festering,
But floating from these beaten seas.
All In hopes of healing
These weary weakened knees.