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The Harrowing Memory

Updated: Jan 15


The north-east corner

of the classroom,

that is where mud and cement

seep out at the cornice,

just like the way

I wanted my words

to fall and gather.

Edges haunt me,

flesh deep,

reminding me 

my scruffy, shielded hiding place

and black ribbons between 

my teeth.

And the hallways where you spill

bedazzled lies

right after tainting

a thirteen-year-old.

I could never speak

but I stagger my way

to the school garden,

and wish to crumble 

into pieces

beneath the aquarium.

It might have been years,

I was labelled the winner,

you were gone.

I could never speak. 

I had never spoken up.

Maybe,

they heard my haunted story

slip through anguished cries

in my sleep.

Time passed

Time passed.

Time always passes.

Yet, it all comes back

like a bird

perching on your brain

and whispering memories

before flying away.





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