02 constant

constant

Memories played like a reel

as they’re caught in the

motion of repeating, skipping

over and over and over.

I’ve scratched at them

with a rusted penny,

scraping away

the color of their eyes,

the shapes of their faces,

and dragged long lines

through their bodies.

I’ve made them unrecognizable,

blurry shadows, avoided spaces,

muted commentary,

vacant objects, unnamed.

They were all the same,

demented and undeserving.

Hell won’t even take them.

Their mother’s love taught them nothing.

Freewill’s chasm.

They would become echoes

of who I had loved,

hollowed and deformed;

ugly colors like the puke pink

shirt I sat in at birth.