The Past Taught me…

The start has an end…

A poem starts with a rhyme,
a life starts with a plan,
love starts with a family.
What if something else
had full control….
of a
feeling.

You don’t know it.
No one ever does.

Understand?
Never came close to it…
The past always
seems to have that touch,
You know the one..
just to disappear & reappear
it’s over done.

The power acquired.
Where from?
I couldn’t tell you.

But every time,
it hits me
like a train…
with no destination.

To lock whatever it means away
to a place I can’t reach.
Some say, outside of you.

I swear
I’ll never
acknowledge it,
even hint at the fact…
that the thing holding the bullet,
the one holding the gun
with its finger
inching toward the trigger;
the syringe full of poison.

Just smiles and grins…
loving
the roulette of its ‘actions’
perfectly accurate,
though claimed
to be an accident.

I bit
the injection
keeps reoccurring.

Although,
now
my world
Is no longer
s pi n n in g.

Just
finally
ENDING.

being & breathing…

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