Book of memories

 

In my chair I'm stuck.

A prisoner to myself,

my book of memories

pours open into my lap.

I let my eyes look

at the liquid reflecting back.

The dripping pages,

on the paper

a war rages.

 

I sit with eyes transfixed,

not wanting to see

the words take life

but unable to look aside.

Nor do I want the pictures

to take flight

Or the worlds to transform

into reality,

become the only world I see.

Where the words

come back to bite me.

 

I feel the paper edges,

sharp as knives.

Dripping blood

over the words inside,

bleeding from paper cuts.

Self-inflected.

Did I cut

to make my eyes turn away?

Some form of mercy.

But my eyes don't stray

on the page they stay.

 

I look at the words within,

start to let them breathe

and they sing to me.

They paint a picture

in sounds, a symphony

that I struggled to believe.

They told me what I'd lost

was not to be found,

but in my moments of sadness,

not to be down.

That the stories

I'd created in my mind,

were being unkind.

I wasn't always to blame

and the world seemed

a little more whole again.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle

 

 

Deja Vu

 

Been here before,

I can remember this scene

like I was walking here one day,

sometime in a stolen dream.

 

I remember the faces,

the way I sense movement,

it's like I'm not in control.

Pulse in my neck races.

Through automated eyes I stare,

my gaze not mine.

It feels I'm being pulled

in one direction. I can't turn my head.

I can't explain. Nor unwire my brain

to look the other way instead.

 

Been here before,

can remember the scene,

I have lived this moment

in cycles it seems.

I go with the flow.

No choice. it’s their show.

My eyes only look where they are told,

my limbs move only where

memories tell me to go.

I see a note written in red ink.

Blood? It says turn your head.

 

But why do they always lead back here?

Is it this place I seek?

This door. This hand grabbing the handle.

Mine. It feels disembodied.

The door inches open with a grinding creak.

Sounds like the gates to hellish eternal penitentiaries, feels like a tomb

that hasn't been entered in centuries.

 

In the darkness a hand beckons me in,

A cackled laugh. I can picture a bloodysoaked grin.

As the creature within leaps

for my exposed throat.

I keep going back to the note.

Turn my head.

I look to my side.

There is a knife, almost within my grasp.

In the blood that pours from my ripped torn throat

I scrawl myself a note.

One day I may be able to break the cycle.

It's my only hope. Darkness cloaks...

 

Been here before,

I can remember this scene

like I was walking here one day

sometime in a stolen dream...

 

 

Thanks for reading

https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff 

 

Please follow the link for my books, videos and social media.

 

Every click, every book purchase, every like helps me to keep doing what I love.

 

Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle

 

 

 

 

Onion

 

Not like an onion.

It's not layer after layer,

each one hiding more despair.

It's more like an orange,

each segment

a different section of storage.

Some will have happy thoughts,

others are beaten by harsh weather.

Some are like little butterflies,

snippets of conversations caught.

 

Not like an onion,

or a snake,

each day a new layer to shed.

More like a lake,

with different thoughts

under the waves to dredge.

Some may be just old boots of memories,

filled with stagnant moments of history,

others could be treasures

that I kept buried to record the mystery.

 

Not like an onion.

Nothing as simple as that.

Just peel a layer back

and that will answer

any questions you may have.

More like an office full of filing cabinets,

all labelled with obscure

quotes I thought were worth storing,

but if you get into the contents

you may find a world worth exploring.

 

Not like an onion,

Where once a layer has been discarded it is lost forever.

More like a library, with books you may borrow,

search through and return after view.

All of the pain and hurt still reside

in some of the books I hold inside

but the happiness and light

slides from the sheets

of other manuscripts you find.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff 

 

Please follow the link for my books, videos and social media.

 

Every click, every book purchase, every like helps me to keep doing what I love.

 

Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle