Tattered remains of a past that has died, a shell of history
lie on the banks of the skin of my pride
still existing in part of all that I am and have been
wantonly refusing to live on or to die

I see pieces of life floating by on the wreckage and the shame
tumbling under the current passing me by
****** into the whirlpool of remembrance and pain
only felt when I close my eyes

Now who is to say where the bitter wreckage should lie
as I cling to the remembrance of pain
floating like driftwood onto the banks of my pride
stealing the will to remain

There are screams in my head to remember or forget
or just accept them as part of my own
as I open my eyes and let go of the banks of my pride
I see the tattered remains of my past move on