Why do I return?
Because it's routine.
It's order.
I need order.

If I strayed, I would be found.
If I ran, too far to be followed,
I'd be free.
A free person, but one that had been changed.
I am different.
I am scarred.
I am broken.

Is there a way that,
Among the shattered shrewds of what remains,
I could be improved?
Maybe,
Even fixed?
Glue together the pieces I have,
Fill in the spaces left empty.

I'll make a new routine,
Adjust like I had before.
An adaptment to life.
To love with no hate.
To stay, with no regrets.

These simple things,
These obvious rights,
I need then back.