The smell of tarmac in my memory
My hands are still grazed and my fingers still burn
For Karma to say it's their turn.
My own echo to offer condolence.
Blurred mocking faces replay my past paces
Why does this torment repeat?
Consealing the past from limelight.
My hurt, my tears, my paranoid fears
Attend to my every fall.
Knowing that this time will not be the last.
Brush off this mess and re build my pride
It's time to pick myself off the floor.