Maybe its not a victory.
Maybe progress is defeat.
My old self, I cannot be.
Where does he go? Out on the street?
It's not fair, he does all the work, just to take a chair?
I served me well, to get this far.
Doesn't improving, for the better, change who you are?
Part of my old self feels like he's dying.
Why should he go, when he's the one who did all of the crying?
I often wished to be strong.
I don't want my weaker-self to be gone.
Don't let go, keep it together.
I want to be me, forever.