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Rated: E · Poetry · Personal · #600363
Trying times can mean brash decisions.
There was a time
when things were good.
We marched in time
just like we should.

But things became tense,
and I lost my cool.
Oh, it was an offense,
and I looked like a fool.

I cried like a baby
over a futile rehearsal.
That's when I thought maybe
it wasn't worth staying at all.

The whining and complaining
was bothering me,
and apathy and bad marching
was all I could see.

I then made some plans.
In brisk tempo, I began to pursue them.
However, in another's hands,
I was restrained from them.

On a free day,
I was sent to his office
to tell him I could no longer play
and that I had to make a sacrifice.

His interrogation slammed at the walls.
I felt like I was being pried open like a
But I broke, and my sobs leaked into the halls
as he declared me selfish.

He said I was not well,
that I needed assistance.
I almost told him to go to hell,
and the group's reputation was pretense.

Soon, though, the tears subsided,
but the pain remained.
At rehearsal, I marched and debated
to stay, as my patience was strained.

Then there was one night
when I stayed at home,
plagued by my plight
and left all alone.

Reluctantly, I decided to stay.
However, I'm wondering if what I did was right.
I wonder because it's become hell, anyway,
and all I've been doing is fight.

I remember a day
when things were good.
Those days are now far away,
and I'd bring them back if I could.

To this very day, I feel strong regret.
I know I should have left, but back then, I didn't
The best part's to come, so I can't leave yet,
but once it's done, I have to go.
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