Metamorphosis

How pathetic can one be? 
Keep falling in love and out of love? 
Keep forgiving and forgetting how they hurt you? 
Keep making the same mistake? 

Well, you name it.

People say one's habits decide his/her destiny. 
If this is true, what kind of destiny is in store for me 
with my hot temper and cold shoulder, 
strong will and weak character? 
Will I become deprived of friends, 
foreign to love, 
out of communication? 

I hope not.

Some mistakes are mendable, others reirreparable. 
Did I just fall for the latter sort? 
Was I the one to blame? 
Do I even feel sorry? 

Oops, I did it again.

I used to be as brave as Rich's diver, 
but now I am timider than Biship's little girl. 
In the waiting room, what is in the dark? 
Can it be a tiny grandma who turns out to be a big, bad wolf? 
Can it be an acquaintance that becomes a total stranger? 

Eh, another tall tale.

This time I refuse to be the victim; 
I refuse to be pathetic. 
Even if I am fated to lose, 
I shall learn or earn something. 
"The art of losing isn't hard to master; 
so many things seem filled with the intent," says my dear Bishop. 
When I put these words down, what is there for me? 

Nothing! Yes, nothing. Thus utter my white noises.