The past is where it belongs.
Behind us, a distant echo through fog,
A ringing in your ear, or the blur in your peripheral.
The past is the autumn chill
Which stands the hair on your neck to attention
With every subtle breeze through the falling leaves,
Or the cobwebs you step through with wild abandon.

The past is right behind you.
Your shadow.
Mimicking your every step and analyzing your motions.
Time's very own Jack the Ripper, with a modus operandi so pure.
Anxiety is the weapon of choice,
Fear is its watchword.

Striking at your weakest point,
When your mind is finally clear.
A scheduled reminder that somehow,
Somewhere,
You failed.

So keep moving forward lest the Leather Apron strike again.

There are people out there who are meant to succeed, and live an easy life.

And there are people out there who try their hardest and end up failures anyway.

They try to fix themselves, they try to atone for the ****** things they've done in the past, and sometimes, it succeeds.

It never lasts forever, and that’s the greatest tragedy.

Their only success is that those people are built for that kind of life. I’m one of those people, never able to completely get their **** together, only long enough to make it work for as long as they need it. To be able to take the stop-loss and still tread water enough to keep them out of the graves they’re constantly digging.

Some people simply don’t want saved. They don’t need fixed because they accept their destiny.

I don’t want saved. Don’t need it.

Sometimes all I want is to talk to someone who knows how that goes.

No solution.

Only acceptance.

I'm a blue-collared, back talkin' *******
Without an ounce of respect for this world
Got a beer in my left hand, a guitar in my right
Black eyes that shine like diamonds and pearls

Got a switchblade sharper than your girlfriend's knees
Better hold your breath, baby, I'm a social disease
And if there's one thing with the time I'm alive
If you wanna learn to live, you gotta know how to die

So let's go for a ride through the canyons of Hell
Where we're goin', no one knowin', too afraid to tell
Ain't no stoppin' this train til we're off the tracks
And this conductor says there ain't no turnin' back

Pin the throttle to the floor, three hundred and six
Where the hellraising ******* of rock get their kicks
'Til we're passed out on the tracks and to the heavens we cry
Cuz ain't nothin' like livin' like learnin' to die

As I fall into the stupor I wanted,
Allow my slumber to be haunted,
By the failures I succeeded to withhold,
By the nightmares I endure, so bold,
By the tears I will hold back for show.
And by the fears only I can truly know.

Allow the morning to bring me pain,
Every cracking joint as my refrain,
And every breath, a struggle shall be
Until my final gasp sets me free.
And until that candid and glorious moment,
Every hacking cough I shall lament.

May my stagger towards vitality bring me to fall,
May my hand miss its point when I hit the wall.
May my reality distort my thoughts, my vision
As I pull myself closer to the decision

That there is no hope for this life of mine,
That functionality through despair is what will define

My shining moment. A sacrificial torment.