I can’t remember my last birthday,
i can’t recall last week
When there is so much to remember,
where there is so much to create a memories
I blank,
Where the ghost of my mind,
is chained to the floor
The past maybe my history,
but I do not live in the past
I live in the now,
Now moves,
too fast
and sometimes too slow
Some people say that our past makes us,
that it is the mold which our clay fills
That we are just the misshapen clay
molded by our stories
But what if there is no mold?
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 6:55 AM UTC
I can’t remember my last birthday,
i can’t recall last week
When there is so much to remember,
where there is so much to create a memories
I blank,
Where the ghost of my mind,
is chained to the floor
The past maybe my history,
but I do not live in the past
I live in the now,
Now moves,
too fast
and sometimes too slow
Some people say that our past makes us,
that it is the mold which our clay fills
That we are just the misshapen clay
molded by our stories
But what if there is no mold?
