In Thought
These seem almost like two different excerpts of something that I could have continued, but I feel that I cannot add more to it. They are similar in meaning; maybe they are the same piece?
As much as I can hold to hate the things that I do, I hate what I've become out of my past actions. Love has torn me apart from the inside out and broke me down. As life goes on, I start to find no point in rebuilding on soiled grounds.
Consistency; a time relapse. Nothing more or less to describe my continuous days of current life. Hopeless and lost, not much can break this bad habit I have developed. I suffer and in time I give up. Nothing exists that will break it unless a miracle is bestowed upon me.