Poem XI.A

This is quite awful, less inspiration, more emotion. So sorry about that.


Pulling, tugging, taking you back,
Memories with glossy black fingers,
Peeling back the curtains of your mind.
Sometimes gently prying apart edges, That are eager to be opened, Sometimes a jagged cut, As though opened with a serrated knife.
And always there's a song that goes along, Teardrops and memories, down another shot,
There's always something remind you.
Remembering stars on islands far away, When you couldn't drag your mind from home, Remembering the peace brought, By naive romance, Before knowing everything that could go wrong.
Memories, that fill you with warm, But your heart with emptiness, For they only come back when they haven't the chance, To ever live again.