Monday, 20 September 2010

The Past

The past,
Can be just as scary as the future.
Dreams and ignorance are running away with a flock of fleeting angels,
Burning the sky, scorching the clouds
Torching the pages of my diary.

I’m scared (I’ll admit)
That every yesterday could be every tomorrow,
Again and again and again.
Drop please, one by one
A feathery storm overseeing every tortured second
Every stressed moment of my nightmares.
Of my memories.

Oh to fly away, and wipe the surface to clean the slate.
Blast my brain with sand and snow, cool the itching.
The past (I’ll admit),
Can be just as scary,
As listening to that song again.

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