The new me is something I always wanted.
I just do not like it.
This is not me.
The hurt that was gone has move to place that is unknown.
Yet I still fell the bruise from the years of grief.
When I look up, I do not know what I see.
I cannot see the tears from sun.
The moon does not shine bright.
At least not for my light.
I cannot think of the way to move.
The end is no longer cool.
Hurt is all around just like the dirt from the ground.
I need to go so I can cry no more.
The same tears still run down my face.
My joy is still gone, and my fears have become real.
I guess the new me is the old me just little more gone.