That horrible moment
when you’ve titled yourself
Champion sprinter from the past
but you stop and realize that
it sticks to you
like chewing gum beneath your soul.

Bad dreams, bad words,
Bad memories, bad people, they go nowhere
You can turn them into channeled, productive rage
But they find their way back to where they’re from
That heavy, sticky, silent blackness
That says you’re nothing but a black hole
Covered under pretty words & speed.

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