I hold no memories of past days
spent in the wonderland of good grief,
those traditional dark decades of confusion.
I have no fond recollections of high school
or its denizens when I glance back into the past
to lost friends or longing relations,
opening dusty tombs of hopeful goodbyes.
I carried wants of being…
someone else or someplace
other anywhere opposed
to where I found myself.
Today vices are straws grasped for breath
each fiber a clutched possession
within a cast of misfits
against a feverish synapse
that fulfills the emptiness
of something missed
strewn away and the next day
everything reawakens, dead.
In a back alley
set against ancient hometown beatings
are cans of trashed dreams
rotting in the dumpster sludge of disease
infested with yearbook trophies
wrapped in the recollections of security blankets.
Tell me of the dark liquorish
that rests in your soul and waits to be chewed
Tell me about those tight chested memories
when hopes were just dreams cast against reality.