Stop. Catch the mistake in the bud.
Right there, in the mud.
Before it takes root, spreads dis-ease.
Grows wild, like those wicked weeds.
Kills your peace, your happy seeds.
Stop. Before guilt becomes a habit. Bad.
Comes disguised as excuses. Sad.
You get used to it, like an old sore.
Conscience in pain, wounded at its core.
Now all that remains, is that stain.
Upon what was once, a clean floor.
Stop. That one mistake.
How many does it take?
Before you awake.
Look within - This is real. That is fake.
What if; this test of fate.
Cheats you back. Checkmate.
Then I’m afraid - it’ll be too late.
It’s a choice you make. That one mistake.
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