What is the hope that we have ridden ourselves of?

There's nothing left, really.
Cleaning up is like starting again,
except you get to work backwards and see your mistakes as you do it.

I guess this is why I never reflect upon my mistakes,
because I'm too busy making new ones and leaving the old ones behind for others to clean up.
That's why the dirt stains my hands and my feet,
leaving me sore and broken,
because I am someone else's problem.

I wish I hadn't stood so close to the edge,
living in the center of the sun,
because even if I'd told you what it was like,
you wouldn't understand the pain it caused me to live each day.
I burned too hot and lived too young,
I felt around in the white light for something to hang on to,
because I thought that I needed someone to pull me out.
Then I realized that I was at the center of the universe;
people looked  to me.

... So I stood up and got together,
told my thoughts to go away,
cleaned my slate and bought a new pen,
then wrote what I felt so that you could read.
I spoke to the page what I needed you to hear,
even though you will never read it.

Maybe the sun doesn't burn at all,
Maybe it stares at us from it's place in the sky
because we want it to.
And because we wouldn't know what to do if one day it decided not to.
This is why you see me every day.
Because if I didn't then something would be wrong.
And in your world,
everything is okay.