Poetry: It's "Good" for the Soul

It's days like these it all comes back

Like a twisted fantasy 

The cold the wind the freedom

The self-perceived ecstasy 

The hollow me comes clawing up

From banished pits below

The pain brings it's burdens back

In an ever enticing glow

That's just what it was

Feigned smiles and illusions

Yet I cannot help but to think 

Doing it again won't bring the same conclusions