My past just seems to follow me,
Everywhere I go.
It peers around every corner,
And I wish it was not so.

It is a cloud always hovering,
Right over my head.
It's like a dagger through my heart,
Making me wish I were dead.

I just can never escape the past,
Of old things said and done.
The past just seems to burn on me,
Like the star we call the sun.

The past should just be a chapter,
In the storybook of life.
One that can be lived through,
And not ended with a knife.