Brokenly Insane

Even as the tears fall, nothing remains in my heart besides regret and pain.  The regret of locking my own self into this trap set out my none other but me.  The pain of mistakingly loving someone who brings nothing but pain any longer, the irony is that it all turns back to myself. 

I can't write anymore, at least not decently and instantly.  I've had a writer's poetry block for at least 3 months now, nothing that I write sounds good like it did.  Sometimes, I feel like I'm going insane, and other times, I just want to leave it all behind, and scream. 

If you told me to wait,

I would have been waiting for an eternity, 

But at least still holding onto those last words with sanity,

Unlike where I am now, become brokenly insane.