The embers of the past,
A lament that stirs my soul.
Time did fly—
Flowers withered,
Seasons shifted,
The last leaf fell,
But I remained.

Pinned to this barren land,
Nailed through my skin,
The wound that never heals,
Bleeding with every thought—
A weight that yearns to move on,
But still, I stay,
Stuck in the echoes of the past.

The illusion of healing,
Just a mirage in the desert of my heart.