Baskets full of memories
like dried flowers
dumped in the trash
trampled on the streets
some are dusty
others have just turned to ash
they were brittle
what are memories?
I think mine are made of metal
They rust
and grow old
but don't waste away
they just sit there
Like a nuisance
Like an abandoned car
you can see what it once was
but mostly what it is
I need to stop doing this to myself
I'll find no happiness in junkyards
just piles of crap

My mind feels like a trampoline
where I throw ideas and they get air time
but just crash harder than they should
everything feels right
which means everything feels cheap
Like I woke up in the middle of a lake
laying on a thin sheet of ice
I can't trust it to shore
Looking for something to stand on
or someone to distract me
from the reality of the situation
or someone with some answers
but I doubt I'll find that
I'm free
but I guess I'm just meant to wander