Manifestations of our past concur with
The concentrated fog of the future ahead.
We build our destiny’s walls with bricks
Of what should have been instead.
Our struggles thrive off unbearable hurt
That were weighted on us long ago.
Those words, goodbyes, and wounds unhealed
Are quick to become our foe.
So we hold out for the Band-Aids
The quick-fixes that cover the gap.
And all the while life passes,
We never stop feeling trapped.