The details are so crisp and clear.
See so far back into yesteryear.
Not to days where you don’t belong
But to that first-felt pain
And retreat into song.
Know them all too well.
Words and actions, too much to lay on that bed. A sliver of what was supposed to be.
A sharp shard of humanity. The curse of memory is knowing what you see.
The blighted edges of a shadow of yourself.
Fear frozen inside the vein.
At the corner of your life & Main. The trail of crumbs that leads around
Is as aimless, shiftless unsteady as the ground.
All that’s seen is the sound of echoes of the you you’re meant to be. The curse of memory is a long walk off a short pier.
Remember the moment, minute, week, day and year.
That the best laid plans came undone.
The best said words were run. The angles of memories can cut so deep.
So much so…feeling the space on top of you.
Only silence can silence these deep, dark secrets.
The curse of memory.