This life is racing, pacing,

Taking laps one gets daunting of,

At some point lasps are real deal breakers.

Its pathological the way we follow our impulses,

Illogical paths often get our pulse racing.

Habits that should have remained in the past,

Keep waiting in the corridor like ghosts. 

We try to keep dead stories buried,

But later look at how hoarding fed them to devour us.

Its said to watch out for ghost of the past, 

None of us see them coming,

As they pry on the little smiles we try to put on.

We pray and lie that our deep dark desires are not known,

Everyone's dark secret waits at the abyss of their souls, 

Am not gaslighting, but look back. 

Its tiring trying to hide them, isn't it? 

Stamp on them till soles perish.

What we regret most stays hidden in chests,

Either one of them stays locked.

Put them to rest, later they resurrect,

Ashamed of our past we will forever try to forget them