Why do all good things come to an end?

I wish I was always happy.

Happy like the day I saw my mum smile for the first time in months.

Happy like when the ice cream van came to school.

Why am I not constantly full of joy.

I always feel whenever I’m actually enjoying life it will stick. Like I will forever be permanently happy. That’s what I deserve right?

But it doesn’t, as nothing does.

Cliché I know, but it’s true, good things always come to an end. Weather you disagree or not.

U can sit there in denial like me, or face reality.

I always pick the easy way out because it’s suffocating always relapsing into depressive episode’s.

I’d rather never be happy, what’s the point?

Dreaming is easier, and requires nothing emotionally or physically

Being happy is almost a punishment.

A chore.

And I’ll never forgive anyone who destroys that feeling. That temporary core feeling that creates memories. It doesn’t last so take it for granted.

It makes my heart throb to know my mum will never truly fully be happy. Nor will I.

I have my loving father to thank for the deep permanent scars he’s individually cut into my family.

As easy as cutting into a slice of cake.

Irreversible some would say.

God I miss being happy.

But I know the feeling will return like it always does.

Once again tearing me apart as it leaves again.

To forgive was to forget. And I knew I would never forget.

(Ps… I’m not the best at poems this is just for fun)