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