( half a confession )
I better give up on memories
to keep my inner peace
that thinking of the past
dwelling on things that have past
back then painfully slow
with nowhere to go
in hindsight almost fast
so why at all ponder upon the past
not a good place to be
in the end nothing can last
so why are memories so important to me?
I suppose I am trying to see
who was this me back then
when I was not able to be free
lost days in a dark haze
lost in a maze – a hopeless case
I could not conquer all the fears
and kept drowning in my tears
even if I sometimes vaguely knew
there was nothing I could do
it was a waste being wasted
too many concoctions I had tasted
despite all I managed to survive
and somehow got on with life
for a while or an eternity it seems
I was imprisoned inside a dreadful dream
a cold place with little affection
no sense and no sense of direction
I had been at a complete loss
everything comes at a cost
but I and nobody else gave a toss
so where was I when I was not there
all that remains
are worrying stains
in my broken book
of hazy snapshots that I took
so what was the story – if there was a story?
no point at this point in time to be even sorry
thou it’s still unnerving and a bother
but I couldn’t ask anyone or my brother
and I still feel uneasy but now its bearable
the past itself has been much more terrible.
I better give up on memories
to keep my inner peace