escape

looking for a pattern
or a break from the routine
to take my mind from all the deaths i wander.
i could choose a self-destruction
or a self-improvement.
in the end, would it matter?
does it matter who i am?
either way i can't forget
the things i'm running from.
and i cannot make my mind be still,
forever dredging up the storms i have hidden.
why won't a mind be silenced by the death of its heart?
the heart is buried but will not cease to cry.