Mistaken.

Many a times when I am angry at myself and have no one to blame,

Thoughts start indulging in a playful mind game.

Carefully finding someone to vent on,

Becomes tricky when you are the one who the blames on.

Realizing it hurts a lot, like recalling times when you’ve fought and lost.

Even that loss is better when against someone else,

Dealing is a problem when with yourself.

How much ever I feel to kill myself for that mistake,

Conscience promising you won’t give that retake.

Guilt runs over and over pricking every single time,

All the emotions flow akin to performing a mime.

Many will be around to say. “I told you so.”

But maybe I wasn’t ready and now need to grow.

And again as I become angry at my own self,

I wish to reduce myself to size with an elf.

I’ll hide like it within some crevice,

Till I’m ready to become a little more wise.