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Lost Findings
Always craving what we already lost,
Cherishing the idea but fearing the cost.
Mentally chasing the things that leave us feeling inadequate,
Physically left with nothing but the feeling that we are inanimate.
We are only as sick as our darkest secret,
Hidden symptoms that fuel a feverish regret.
Haunted by the very memories in which we hold onto so tightly,
We welcome the pain, refusing to loosen our grip even slightly.
Blind to today because we only see yesterday,
Even though the futures only a few heartbeats away.
A memory is incomplete without a feeling,
Chasing after the idea that from what we really want we are always fleeing.
