A Ticking Time Bomb

These sharp pieces of broken glass;
The reflection of the dead moments of past,
tons of random fuzzy memories,
and excessive ashes of burning hope.

These sharp splinters; the carvings of self-made prophecies,
separated by a path which divided two kinds of sides;
the bright ones that i'm dying to realize,
and the dark ones that i'm dying to avoid.

All of these are trapped inside the labyrinth within my brain,
which is wrapped by tangled strings of fear and worries,
surrounded by sad souls of shattered dreams,
and haunted by merry ghosts of dancing nightmares.

Where's the gasoline? Where are the matches?
Where's the dynamite? Where are the explosives? 
Nobody can find them and i wonder why, 
then i realized that i don't need any of them.

Cause this mind, is actually just a ticking time bomb.