Reminiscing

Is the past poison.
Doesn't feel like it.
It feels more like a good, pure friend.
Undirtied by sins.
Undirtied by impatience.
Undirtied by desire.

This is my voice. The sound which speaks in me.

I wish you could hear it.
But it can't be true to you.
It is afraid you will judge it.
It feels judged by you.

Songs from the past plays in my mind.
Reminds me of a time.
I was clean.
I was pure.
I was white.

Now i am....
...