Poetry of the passing

Years like days, like widows-black shrowds,
growth stunted and playing to the crowds
monkey on a string for the puppet master
The haunting is the hardest part.
My heart beats faster...

another cold grey day with my window wide and my eyes tight shut,
the wind is my past and my heart is fuct,
it grows in me-this sadness for the loss of my youth
I'm relapsing through rememberance, facing the truth.

Damn shadows of people I knew- their eyes in my lense
drinking and laughing, I assume they're my friends,
these memories still hurt me like I'm on the other side of the world
these ghosts of voices from before I grew old.

I'm feeling so mortal, my eyes bloated from tears
been sitting here so long and can't turn back the years
but
Fuck it, I'm more than I've ever been
not living on borrowed time, not just living the dream.
Fuck it, my lowest point is my past
this life is a race and I refuse to be last

Take it, your false ideas of greener grass
I'm not reliving your dreams, not mourning a farce
Take it, I don't want this burden anymore
this cancer, this tumor, the smiles I never saw

Blah blah! you get the idea, I'm moving on
Basically-screw nostalgia-it's a fucking lie.

Keep on making memories
peace.