138 of 365

Revealing

itself to me,

was it a dream?

An illusion?

Or a suppressed memory?

Feels like the present.

The edge of pain.

I bury it,

preserve it

from perverse

penetrating

vision.

Incapacity to deal,

pushing it aside,

I discard it.

Intense living

forced these

repressed

memories to life.

Not an illusion,

not delusion.

Memories

they haunt me

all the time.

2 thoughts on “138 of 365

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