sometimes
when we realize the damage we've done
it's too late
the war already won.

like bleach marks on black,
hair cut too short,
a car crumpled up 
like crepe paper...
we can never go back.

sometimes
we say we're sorry
when we're not ready
friends end up gory.

like blood stained on white
toast already burnt
scorched right through
like your blackened heart...
we all cry at night.

sometimes
when we're ready to forgive
and to forget
we'll have new lives to live.

like paint on the walls
these marks won't ever 
come clean off...
on our faces
we sometimes all have to fall.

and it is really is a shame
that when you're winning
and beating the game
that life takes a twist.

and out come the lemons,
but you have no sugar left
you sprinkled it all on
your new fake found friends...

it is true,
sometimes...
sorry comes too late.


xoxo
Kyelle