A fleeting regression of an evening bloom
The echo of my wailing voice—distant.
It seeps through the ceramic walls
Even these thick glass windows
cannot sustain a reverberation so profound.
Why retrace every step as an image in mind?
Why does the image taunt on repeat?
Why does the image of past faults remain?
Why does the image taunt on repeat?
Why does the image continuously bother?
Why does the image taunt on repeat?
An echo of wailing voices under my breath
Snipping at my cords, they hush my objection
Silence, silence. Silence!
Remember, remember, remember...
“Do you remember the image of your faults?”
“Tomorrow we shall ask again”