Hindsight is 50/50.

Nostalgia is a pile of mud.
A chunk of something,
Shaped into nothing.
A useless emotion.
A silly notion,
To look back and think it will still be there.
You drive into the sunset and listen to the music swell.
It’s a lie and you know it.

Hindsight is 50/50.
Half true and half what you wanted to do.

You’re not going anywhere.
You think you’re going somewhere.
Your tires are stuck in the mud.
Watch the horizon.
You’re stuck in the mud.

If you can feel anything,
It’s because of something
You felt before.
There is nothing new.
The wheel rotates.
But the pattern is a predictable.
It is a circle.
Nothing ever changes.
You are not new
You are not new.

No inspiration will come.
If it was ever there,
It’s there now.
And if it never lived inside you
It never will
It never will.