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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