Bad taste

Just now I'm doing nothing
While I dance upon the hill
And the shadows of the past 
Are never standing still
I can wait for moments silence
Which comes among the blast
Of the thunder of my thoughts
That drift among the past
Where was I when the hail fell
What train of actions then
When I alone could tell
What the endless pain would bend
That I will live this moment over
And the torment will inflame
The scars that mark the cover
And only I can blame
Myself, the thoughts alone
Are tattooed to my brain
To be seen as autochrome
For as long as I remain
Awake or sleep it matters not
For nothing is a myth
In which no memory is forgot
If nothing, this it it.
Restless, relentless, haunting ghosts
That interrupt the peace
And I am the singular host
Of nothing's angry feast.