Nostalgia is a curse,

As sinister and calculated as can be.

For when nostalgia's vines take their grip,

Nothing could ever seem quite so fond. 

 

Nostalgia is a perdition, 

As it only strikes,

When fond memories,

Are the only escape. 

 

Nostalgia is a hand on your ankle,

Pulling you down with it,

As it sinks into irrelevance, 

Determined not to die alone. 

 

Nostalgia is your friend,

Armed with a comforting smile,

A feeling of familiarity,

And a long, thin knife. 

 

Nostalgia is a genius,

For who think to blame,

The sadness the walks hand in hand,

With the happiness of yesterday.