puddles

Molten clay,
forms the face of my fears,
crush them I may,
but they will return,
faster down a street,
panting,
memories play back,
in the puddles I see.
Stomping each one
as I run down a dead end,
only to make more,
the more I stomped,
the more they came to be...
Soon I would be
in the cold,
wandering in the ice.
I meet an old friend along the way,
she tries to catch up on old memories,
I just float in the puddles
of my fears.