A letter to my self

Your first entry just maybe your last.
It is there for ironic that this very moment will soon be your past.
There is a need too steady this rhythm,        step by step, this is love not mayhem.
A change for good, now a change for better.
Tis time to move forward.
I need to trust within and without.
Why am I always with the vendetta.
I dwell on this concept, I burn for this too be true.
Twas my light that was forsaken.
It is now my honesty in which has spawned into a blurred line,
 too in which I am unable too see through.
But through is a lie,
And around is also.
This Wicked is all I see.
I am but a ghost.
Tis I my self now in need of a host.