The Past
The past stares at me
glaring at me seductively,
inviting me to visit,
to recount my wrongs-
to open old hurt.
Hesitantly,
not sure what to do-
if its worth all the pain and hurt
to look back into the past.
Staring at me,
it draws me in.
Struggling to escape, I turn.
I twist and slither
slipping out of Past's hands.
Pulling at me, pulling me closer to it
I kick, I hit-
anything to escape I try.
Finally free,
I run,
vowing never to return.
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