It seems, as of late,
I wander through bits of debris.
Chaos and mess everywhere.
Brain shrapnel mostly..
pink and still breathing,
clinging to all that is life
within it's memory banks.
within it's memory banks.
But I see memories scattered like shards of glass,
yet reading like shreds of newspaper.
I am desperate to read them, but they are hard to pick up.
Dangerous, actually.
I may cut myself in doing so.
I don't need any more wounds just yet....
I haven't healed up the old ones still.
These memories are mine.
Relationships torn,
things said,
reactions viewed
opinions forced,
Backs turned.
I look all around me,
and debris floats in the air around me looking for a place to settle...
Stuff I have forgotten,
yet i cannot control myself and pick things up and relive them
and open new wounds upon old wounds and feel them all over again...
my thoughts become a whirlwind,
wicked,
powerful.
I am enraptured in them all.
