Is an illness with no antidote
The older we get the sicker we get
Sweetness can cure the symptoms for awhile
But eventually we all overdose on our own bitterness
The places I visit from the past
Are abandoned and left behind
I ponder to ask if they existed to begin with
Fragments of my life frozen in time
“Nostalgia” is a place I used to visit
Spray painted as an exit sign
On the other side of Saint John’s Avenue
Illuminated by flickering street light
That hollow shell of a building remains
The rest is burnt to the ground
I wonder what would have happened
If I stayed one more sleepless night
Would my body be buried in the ruble
Forever trapped inside
Nostalgia is a place I seldom visit
To look back, I hate to say I miss it
Life sometimes feels as a purgatory or a prison
Honestly, I cannot tell the difference.
Oct 19, 2024
Oct 19, 2024 at 6:22 PM UTC
Is an illness with no antidote
The older we get the sicker we get
Sweetness can cure the symptoms for awhile
But eventually we all overdose on our own bitterness
The places I visit from the past
Are abandoned and left behind
I ponder to ask if they existed to begin with
Fragments of my life frozen in time
“Nostalgia” is a place I used to visit
Spray painted as an exit sign
On the other side of Saint John’s Avenue
Illuminated by flickering street light
That hollow shell of a building remains
The rest is burnt to the ground
I wonder what would have happened
If I stayed one more sleepless night
Would my body be buried in the ruble
Forever trapped inside
Nostalgia is a place I seldom visit
To look back, I hate to say I miss it
Life sometimes feels as a purgatory or a prison
Honestly, I cannot tell the difference.
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