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
fragile
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