tracks.

there is
this road
i used to
walk –
i still
walk –
twice, sometimes
four times
a day.

i remember
the dark,
lonely paths,
and the
bright lights;
the quizzical
stares and
blurry footsteps.

straight and
narrow paths
are just
as dangerous
as wild
and winding
tracks; i felt
the dark,
solid weight.

now when
the sun
is shining,
i can
still recall
the black
holes of
incomplete
madness.

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