It was mine to burn, I struck a match
I could feel the gleaming shame, rubbed raw by feeble tact
I took a final look, at everything I owned
And I could see the spite in me by what I'd reaped and sewn
Did I even leave a mark?
It was mine to ruin, I took it back
And I can trace countless mistakes in every dent and scratch
I took a final look, at everything I made
I'll quash doubt and learn to tout this person I became
Did they notice me at all?
Or was I always fixed to fall?
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