| Transient Of all the things I have ever wanted to forget, Darkness and the dank smell of always being incomplete. unimportant. There's something about finally turning my back. Everything's behind me now. Beneath me. Buried under the broken picture frames from lives past. My feet stick to the ground like there's a pind wad of fear holding them, As if they know there's no one left No one to care if I ever make it back there alive (once I figure out where 'there' is) Don't look back. No one to say, "We know how you really think, What you have done. You can't pretend here." calling out the names that scald ears. I wander. On to my next town. I have no future, Soon, I will have no past. If I turn around, I lose it all. But I want to watch it burn. My eyes stay focused. The faint smell of ash. I will not look back. |