falling face first onto concrete-the last memory of past lives

ghosts from twenty-something years ago still haunting

staying hidden in the rafters of my subconscious, waiting

quiet and unobtrusive until weakness ushers in opportunity

then the cartoon flip book of broken memories comes out

white pages filled with diluted recall, attempts at justification

rudimentary stick figures act out the events as if on broadway

playing out the drunken stupor and decisions taken away

the flash of faces in a dream or featured in a commercial

seeing the eyes in maniacs screaming in ecstasy at dog fights

the smiles of demons spread across the faces of mall walkers

holding onto sanity simply due to the inability to see it all

silent thanks whispered in the wind and rain for amnesia

but leaving behind the gift of toxicity and social immortality

enough to make the nuns run in fear hands over mouths

heavy chains preventing escape rattle when the past lives

the clairvoyance of betrayal and dismissal as heads turn

family, friends, lovers quickly retreating into the darkness

there was no dissension as the unspeakable sins began

the women walking away quickly, a thanks it was not them

the men remaining, watching, preparing dicks hard and ready

wrists and ankles bruised, hair full of lawn clippings and pollen

clothes tattered and torn, the smell of dried blood permeating

stumbling through city streets baking in the texas summer sun

falling into the house, my safety, my refuge, i was finally home

there were questions i could not ask, answers i could not face

a hepatic hiccup under control, keeping the monsters at bay

the missing details can scratch the brain in moments of quiet

boones farm and rohypnal guarding the psyche against invasion

the history of a girl from long ago, the death of the yellow rose

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