Nostalgia has never deceived me

It’s benign

Yet prays it’s a cancer

That ruffles up your blood, then brings you to the boil

Finding a brand new mess to spoil

It’s an atonal dancer

Spinning around like a rotting ferris wheel 

Still charging you, to sit and watch a view

That’s been decimated by a concrete hue

Nostalgia has never believed me 

When I stand

On the weathered statues

Of my achievements, not hiding from the days ahead

But growing till I’m strong and dead

I’m a tick in time

That’s irritated by; the pointless cries

Of these clawing and cowardly days gone by