They Keep Picking, and picking, and pickin, and picki, and pick, and.....

I attempt to let go of the past,
looking forward,
yet it still persist,

hands of the ghost that won't let me go,
demons on my back,
tethered to my soul,
they will not break hold,

I open wounds that I hope to heal
wishing the dead of night will not steal,
what i so cherish the most,

let me go, let the river flow,
forward,
so i can be free from the trees,
that I believe so unjustly bind me to their knees,

I don't feel happy nor sad,
just bad,
like a fever that won't let go but you can still smile,
I owe nothing but a smile,
to the ghosts that have been haunting me all this while,

and the trees that harbor spectres in their knobby knees,.,.,.,