Lemme tell you a story

What do I have?
A diary and a pen.
Red one.
That speaks a thousand stories.
Stories? Yes, stories.

What could I do about the sandstorm?
The farther I tried to run away
The more sucked I was.
So, I just plugged up my ears and walked into it.

It touched every part of my body.
Every cell felt the voracity of the storm.
Should I say, it created bloodshed inside of me, time and again.
Who did it kill?
I don’t wanna tell you.

Back then, I couldn’t have it all.
Now, I don’t want much.
What changed?
My appetite? Not as much.
Did I? Nah, I never had to.

I have my notes filled with wheels.
Wheels of time? Ehhhh…No.

But still, what if it could take me back in time?
I would just relive it one more time.
There isn’t a thing I would like to change.
Not because I don’t regret anything.
But because I regret some of the choices that I made.

What’s the story here?
What’s the sandstorm here?
Sandstorm is a story.
Only when the red of the diary is in action,
And not of the bloodshed.