Road to Damascus

What seemed a lifetime, her and I

were locked inside,

a parasitic-symbiotic dream.

At least when we scream,

we know we are alive.

Nevermind,

feeling listless and confined.

We're just passing the time;

while we wait for the weight of our lies

to bury us alive.

So becomes our past.

And we let it pass.

But no, not really;

because the little things now kill me.

The further from it I flee,

the closer my past gets,

forever driving me further from Damascus.

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