The past has become my present,
and the present has taken me beyond what I know to be the future.
Nostalgia is what I refer to day by day when I can only manage sadness.
Reminiscent of what used to be,
when I was young and free,
blissful and blessed,
but that was taken away,
and now my only freedom is the release i get from the fabrications of my mind.
Races begin fast and strong but end in a lackadaisical finish.
And as the race rushes on from birth to death,
it loses its pride in the good,
and forges for the dark in the brightest of light.
Here i sit in an empty room with black walls,
as a stream of home videos mocks my weeping,
reminding me of the pink ribbons once tied in my soft hair,
and the daisies i plucked with the girl next door.
What is this storm I have been hauled into?
Is it a tornado or a hurricane?
Can I find peace in the center of it all?
The storm leaves ruins that surround me,
abandons me to lament while all my joy lay deadweight only a few feet away.
