The past is my ball and its chain I suppose.
It holds me, enfolds me, and sold me, and goes
Wherever I stray in my ghostly cold mind
And echoes; the yarn of my memories unwind.
I wake up to darkness inside my own head
To fight off the bitter sensation of dread.
I squint into fuzziness, hoping to find
The person who opens the cage of my mind.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
The past is my ball and its chain I suppose.
It holds me, enfolds me, and sold me, and goes
Wherever I stray in my ghostly cold mind
And echoes; the yarn of my memories unwind.
I wake up to darkness inside my own head
To fight off the bitter sensation of dread.
I squint into fuzziness, hoping to find
The person who opens the cage of my mind.
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