What A Waste

What A Waste

The Past Feels Like Lead. . .

Prose

The painting, doesn’t reveal the truth.
There are some hidden moments in time,
That can not escape my notice.

Suffocation, Like breathing glass shards,
The best years of my life; lay in ruins.
The wounds that were bled, were lessons.

It wouldn’t hurt so much, in the event I only had to learn them once.
Seems this ride, keeps teaching, and my amnesia keeps me trapped.

Some painful lost hope. They didn’t care. Didn’t matter to them.
The future; runs forward. Broken fragments of the past; surface.
The best years of my life; wasted in illness. What a waste.

Like glass shards, my memories keep me from breathing.
This vacuum, feels like a living death. Wish i could breath.
The sweetness of my youth, have turned all bitter.
How i miss my youth. The last twenty-two years; like a cancer.

Like a living death, where no one will hold me.
Wish, that I could unlock this door, and cross a great divide.

How far to go? Maybe, no one knows for certain. A whole eon, will pass. Regardless if the loop is long or short; it’s a hell of a ride.

If anyone really knew for sure, how long the road out of hell is. It should be worth doing; however long it takes. Seems like its something that i travel alone. It is easier to remember that the end will be reached, than how far I’ve come. End this shit.