Remorseful

Step by step we walk,

one foot infront of the other.

But tripping,

tripping over our laces.

One trip equaling two in a split second.

Laughing, holding hands as we wander,

wander off into nothingness.

As if we were never friends,

not pals.

As we exchange looks,

we cast a smile towards one another.

Yet still tripping.

Trying to retrace our steps,

trying not to trip.

Yet still another trip after the other.

We try to make them up,

but yet we always trip.

Trip upon our shoe laces.

We continue wandering,

trying to make up our struggles.

Struggles upon these laces.

I trip,

then fall.

You don't help me up.

You just walk along as if I had not fallen.

Fallen into depression,

into darkness.

When, oh when will we stop tripping?