Circles

The mind moves around

Like a nervous dog

Sniffing on old

Memories of failure

And abuse

.

What could have

Been done different

Or better

Too late

Too late

Creating a fantasy

That evaporates

In thin air

The mind try to

Rest

But there is no

Refuge in sleeping

Flashback returns

Again and again

Like a beggar

Never satisfied

Never happy

Always demanding

That stones

Turns to gold

.

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