Take me into places,
Where it doesn't hurt.
Away from my memories,
That I can't forget.
Pictures that I took,
Meant to be on fire.
Letters that I wrote,
Addressed to the shredder.
Poetries made of scars,
Songs wounded by the time.
Like prayers you say at the altar,
Like a pilgrim with no divine.
So I rewrite all my proses,
Changing chapters and titles,
From every word and all the verses,
Til all the lines become circles.