The past creeps up like a thief in the night

For it cares not if you're rich or poor

Black or white, devil or saint, 

Layman or learned sir —

No… it cares not for how far you’ve moved on from it

Nor how much better you're doing now that it's gone.

It comes like a bullet from a sniper's gun

— Unexpected — 

— Ludicrous, even — 

— A momentary aberration — 

That in an instant — B A M ! — You're hitting the ground

A pool of anguish and despair oozing out of you.

Instead of staying where it should

Buried deep underground beneath synapses and pain

It germinates and one day flourishes

Sprouting from the recesses of your mind, fully formed

A reminder that it’s done nothing but fester

Under the pretenses of having gone far, far away

Growing stronger, gaining ground

Roots now mapping across the landscape of your brain

Impossible to uproot now that it’s taken hold

The past, oh, our fetid saboteur 

Always has a funny way of making itself known

When we least expect it.