On nights like these,
alone with only my thoughts,
my past returns
I can barely keep the voices at bay,
they will not be silenced,
nor will they tolerate being ignored 
A dozen voices whispering in the night,
in an unending unison of judgement,
"you cannot be loved"
So many chances,
and an equal number of failures,
the result always seems the same
Either by careless inaction,
mistakes that cannot be undone,
or wrong decisions made from good intentions
This curse seems unending,
a cycle that cannot be broken,
and hope is a weary weapon
With each and every night,
the damning voices become louder,
and ever harder to keep at bay