Some things I'd rather forget. My mind has a mind of its own. Cruising over the past I stop to focus on what could possibly be an unattractive moment, and my mind refuses to bring it clear. The memories are shadows standing under my glance, shapeless forms waiting to be seen, to perform once again for me. I can see them tapping their feet, "Lets get it on" impatiently one of them yells from the haze--I think its the blurred image of a boy I beat with a stick in the 6th grade.
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