An anchor hangs from my heart,
As my footsteps begin to drag,
Hunched over and staring at the ground,
I do not know what lies ahead.
The pangs of the past haunt me,
One by one mocking my decrepit figure,
As the ghosts of my memories
Drain my already weak heart.
Yet I still move onwards,
As time moves me further from the past,
What little remains of me
Is preserved inside my hand.
Clutching onto my warm memories,
Close to my heart.
-Dan
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