taking stock, reading nothing and everything back, wanting nothing and everything back, everything and nothing haunts me, regret washes over my spine, leaving trails of blood and scratch marks that never but always heal. often times pass and stuff lingers, but time lingers and stuff passes away like a grandparent on morphine. lingering and passing. remnants of stuff leaving trails to be tracked and time tracks the trails only to find itself naked and confused. looking at itself in a mirror, time hates what it sees.
non bis in idem
