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Memories of a Decade
Freestyle!
Bloated captures of paused moments. Looking back means reclining in posture of penance. Holding pictures hurt much less than mental playbacks.
Why is that?
Galaxies of vacancy circle the remnants of destruction that won’t be looted in time. We shuffle through has-beens and what could’ve been, and find the final number is rounded to the present.
How is that?
Paying back what has been accrued over the span of a tumultous period is an indulgent habit of every second of breath.
Faces that register under broken ties will stay the same forever. You tried to revive those hearts but the pump wasn’t enough to bleed out.
Carcasses that sprouted out of unsecured graves returned to claim you and obliging meant reverting back to the discarded.
It happens.
We reap what we sow, exactly in that order. You challenged fate with ambitiousness that awakened ministers in aged trees, looking down at fresh footsteps that had to be dirtied.
Searching in homes of hope for the pathway of revival to stifle the overpowering of maturity at its most lethal. To escape dried up fortresses of womanhood.
