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Hunting backwards
I hunt through the past,
like a man possesed,
what do i expect to find?
something i missed,
something i forgot,
a piece of the puzzle
the one to stop the rot
i stand on the Island of hindsight,
oblivious to my whereabouts,
i ignore the present,
and reject the future,
and instead,
i choose to bathe in the taste of
a thousand tears
and shiver in the shadow
of a thousand former fears,
i can turn my face to the sun
but the darkness i leave behind
pulls like a hundred horses
and before i know it
im projecting myself
into a word in which
only the ghost of my former self
may inhabit
why is it so magnetic?
the lure of the past
seduces me
and i go over a million mental
images
ones i have seen a million times
before
going backward seems the easy
option
but again it begs the question
what do i expect to find?
there will be no suprises
no new imagery
unless i can learn to plant
one foot infront of the other
and project myself
into the unwritten
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