Stop making the same fucking mistakes

I once had a thought without inflection
that I left leaning on broken angles
its ghosts pester the flickers of my eyes
and cry out for resurrection
what sorrow there is in the gazes of those suffering calls
that see the light of pain
in lines yet to be written across this brow
if ever there was a thing that I believed
it would be
that the pond of the past
has no ripples upon its surface