We Spoke Again Last Night

Why is it that the thing I want most in all of the lands, I push away the hardest with both hands?  I am a manipulator and a charlatan.  Why am I such an awful person?  I have photos of me as a kid, picking flowers and being joyful.  I wasn't born negative.  I wasn't born hoping to make relationships only to suffocate the life out of them.  Now I've become so good at it that I don't even realize I'm participating in my own demise.  I think I've become someone I hate, therefore I spread the vitriol like a thick paste over everyone that comes near me.  Is it simply fear that compels me to be awful?  I've fucked up and I don't know that I can remedy it with simple apologies and time.  There may not be enough time.  Life is so short, I tell myself, as I punch holes into everything I've worked so hard to create.  Love is nurtured and in kind nurtures back.  I've forgotten how to nurture.  I've forgotten how to support.  There's only me now, suffocating on my own self-indignation and pity.  I've done this.  I'm sorry.  It couldn't have been you.  You're new.  Fresh.  Open.  I promised myself I wouldn't hurt you.  I promised myself I wouldn't bring you down.  I promised you I wouldn't hold you back and if there ever came a day where I did, I would let you go.  Well that day is here and I brought it forth and now I'm frozen by my love for you.  I am a selfish waif of despair.  How did I get us here?  Slowly, softly...then all at once the pieces fall.  I was a jar on a precarious shelf and now just the sound of me breaking apart is all that lingers.  The pieces were always there but now the whole room can see them in vivid color and I am quietly studied, judged, and labelled.  No more hiding in plain sight on my unstable shelf.  I'm just there alone.  Again.