Self Made

Again and again.
Always missing Ghosts
Time is a thief
And Nostalgia is a dirty liar,
But these memories, so sanguine sweet
Like honey at the center of a spiderweb
And the more you wrestle, 
the less you’re able to move on
But talking to the Dead 
Chasing the wind
Standing in front of the firing squad
Just seems to be the only thing
Your heart was meant for
Time
and time, 
again.