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For the Life of Me.

Quiet moments, some silent
even from myself.
Forbidden memories hang
on the edges
of eerie moods,
offering seductive whispers
of buried truths.

I try and reach out,
but fingers fail.

All as the lies eat me away.
A spiraling madness
so consuming.

Sometimes the whole
of my life
seems like a distraction,
a held breath,
and I’m left to wonder
what I’m holding back
and hiding from.

My whole life feels
like walking into a room
to do something
of utmost importance
and for the life of me
I cannot recall what it was.

The sensation
of pulling back on a bow,
the moment before taking a leap,
that maddening itch
that cannot be scratched,
that eternal second
before you wrap
your head around
what is going on
when someone scares
the living hell out of you:

that is the frozen feeling,
the suspended sensation,
the atmosphere
of the world
I hold within me.

All built up
and nowhere to go.

And to each
their release valves.
To each their ointment
for the spiritual stretch marks…

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