Television Set

There are ghosts
that live in my television set.
Screaming at me,
and never letting me forget.

Here come the memories,
making me wonder,
what sort of expertise
is it they possess?

Black and white reruns,
just like Hayley said,
turn my blood to ice,
my feet to lead.

I can't move,
anchored by my disbelief.
I never told you that,
I swear.
That girl isn't me.

She's yelling calmly,
telling you everything you never wanted to hear.
Taking you and breaking you,
making you dissapear.

The tragedy
seizes me.
Could ending the whole world
have been done that easily?

Is there a reason
this is happening?
A reason
I can't see?

Is it karma
making me relive
all the horror
you won't forgive?

So here I'll sit
watching my t.v. set,
wondering how it got so bad,
but solving the mystery of why I'm sad.