Memories are nothing but a picture, that flows from distant walks, It's nothing but a memory now, Forgotten times you say are best forgotten, though I seem to want to leave It all behind, But what remains as ashes in a pile of old photos, That captured every spare moment that was to be spared, A time to breath, To redeem every last breath that had been taken away, As the skies grow quiet, I can finally hear my heart beating again, A pale and soft rhythm exfoliates my skin, to remove the dim shades that have been worn like a mask, I've got to breathe now, and to be no longer afraid of the memories, that where doubtfully unflattering, even to the most angelic like features.