Reliving some pockets of memory
is like taking a jagged blade
and carving myself up
to some pseudo-Omnipotent
who just wants me to hurt.
He lashes at me and doesn’t care
I already have a head start
in tearing away at myself.
Nostalgia is like a whip.
Some time ago,
I gave up most thoughts of tomorrow
just to survive today.
It’s mostly worked.
Yet, I have been granted moments
of relief, few but persistent,
enough to make me toss
faded hopes in place of new ones.
The Word Rummager 
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