And now for a moment of wisdom

The ghosts of my past

Silently, swiftly, the clock strikes thirteen,

The silver mist rises, as if in a dream.

The wind becomes chill, and all becomes dark,

A fiery screech, .. And at last; a spark.

Frustration; rebellion, as darkness defines..

Run strict out of business, and straight out of time.

A nightmare rushed thoroughly, and a breathtaking black stain;

Haunt the edges of my being; Through the blood in my veins.

And the ghosts of my past swirl around me like the night.

A fire within the last of the ribbons of light.

And I feel the blood rushing; so innocent and pure.

I hear the rerunning screams that kill the last of my fear.

And the scars of my future are engraved in my tears.