“Step one, step two – pace picking up…”

Step one – your pace is slow,
Still keeping profile low,
Forbidding one to grow,
Outsmarting that old sow…

Step two – you pick up shattered piece of self,
Look carefully into what’s left,
Hold on to dream that keeps you up,
While bleeding painfully at heart.

Step three – music blasting out of headphones,
Mind wondering the streets of past,
Lucky kept their love for dear ones,
You lost your meaning of a “must”.

Step next takes forward towards fire,
With all reflecting in denial,
Veins burning up with daring hatred,
Your whole self being scarcely bated.

Then you stand still and try to cover,
All beaten up, with scab wounds pealing,
Now looking back – it is all over,
You went through hell without much squealing.

Last breath of darkness breathed out,
With puff of smokes that matter…
There’s nothing left to be “without”
It’s more to come on latter…

Step made to take you way away,
To witness beauty, cleanse the dirt,
Which piled up as a runaway,
Ideas that were blurred.

Now you  let go of all,
That sullied view,
That dirtied soul,
To get yourself away from hell,
To breathe the air,
To live up well,
But there is something that you bare,
That kills all living,
Rattles hell…
Memories of your old self,
Unable to let go of them.

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