The past is a horrible place to be lost in,
Yet a delightful place to hide.
Such a shame that I keep relapsing to that time,
But am I to blame when reality renders my demise?
My clock betrayed me, and yanked me to the Now,
My heart wept, but got silenced by the mind,
My logic tamed me, and so did I dwell in a lie,
where the present morphed me a mask of which
made me blind.
In the night I hid, distressed by the light,
For empty my shadow in it did rise.
The mirror I began to detest,
In it my reflection seems so hostile.
I cracked at the end,
And so I carried this cheap pen,
Soaking this paper in my emotions which bled,
What the present failed to amend.