A Worthless Constant

I often fall into an obsolete nostalgia
of an existence I could’ve been
had I been stranding forth
upon the illogical path
I’d chosen.
I often question the kind of person
I am
for that is the reality
of my mind,
a baseless individuality
in a long lost world
of momentary numbness.
Is it a disease of my conscience
that makes me choose the same
horrid paths
that I should forsake?
But saying it a disease
makes it being uncontrollable,
and here I am,
choosing the same tragedy
over and over again.
Choosing.
Am I a slave to my desires?
But they aren’t my desires,
for I do feel guilt
even as I keep walking down
on the unrighteous tragedy.
Should I be more accepting
to change?
The question actually is,
why shouldn’t I be?
The world rarely asks
not to change,
rarely do we need to stay grounded to
one anchor
for the stability
of our entire reality.
And here I was,
filled with fear and reprise
for a change
that I should be changing up to.
But here I am,
being a worthless constant.