These Fucking Memories

Memories are funny little things, 
Neatly filed away and tucked into little manilla folders in the back of your mind, 
Watching,
Waiting, 
For just the wrong time.
They slip;
Clawing and grasping for purchase into your thoughts,
Memories that you had long since forgot,
Ones that were better left in the past to rot.
Long since dead to you.
You see, 
Once they are released they are like an unrelenting force, 
And no matter how hard you try to push them down, 
To bottle them up,
They wont relent, until you are drowing in a sea of memories.
Dark, exsquisite, secret memories of moments that should never have been.
And as you try to prentend that you are fine,
That you are not slowly drowing within your own mind,
You sit statuesque in the front seat of his truck, 
Numb and unreachable in your fog. 
You stare dumbstruck through the front windsheild,
And wish that you could push them away and move on, 
But every lyric to every song that comes on
Seems to strike just the right note in your heart.
And as your chest tightens, 
A lone tear slowly trickles down your face,
Tickling your cheek and numbing your senses.
Not all memories are cheap (bad),
But all memories have a funny way of creeping up on you when it hurts the most.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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