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.


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