14.12.21
22:05
Scrape the amnesia off my brain like dried paint. I lie awake to the heartbeat of a wall clock. It spells out my need to sleep in block alphabets. But insomnia's a true friend if you've never left your bed, sleep's only an acquaintance. A red door that wasn't always red replaced the song which was stuck in my head. Now I can't even remember what it said. It's easier to forget when the alternative is swimming in regret. So you block your consciousness with a seven lever lock. Trauma trash cans fill up fast and mine is just a grenade counting its last days. Repeating patterns in life-like fractals are the art I make best. Like how I hate that stench of cheap cigarettes but its ashes are all over the place. Circles are hard to break because they're all missing edges and when you're an amnesiac programmed to suppress. A tingling in my chest is the wake-up call I keep declining. The voicemail keeps beeping, white noise in a quiet building. And someday, I'll hammer the locks on the door which wasn't always locked and scrape off the red of my mistakes.
YOU ARE READING
words don't come that easy.
PoetryI've tried. but i've always failed to contain these thousand words in a few sentences, maybe im bad at expressing macro feelings in the few words that I'm limited to. you might think you know me enough because it's been a long time since i first wav...
