Too late.

I hate myself.
I'm a pathetic mess, nothing but a figure in the corner.
A shadow, that lurks in the night.

I'm the broken ballerina figurine,
So shattered, so broken,
Impossible to fix.

I can never be fixed,
I can never loved,
I'm just a memory.

I watch over the happy people.
Happiness isn't eternal, it never stays.
But you don't know that, do you.

I'm right. I am.
You know your mistake.
One day you'll be sorry, you'll be too late.