There's a fascinating sort of redaction,
Down this particular path,
Trodden over and over again to draw,
this crooked road in the dirt,
I remember it in Polaroid flashes;
This is an evanescent sort of fizzling,
All I know is that I was 6,
When I try to plop this new body back in that age,
I get nothing but TV static; a pitiful crack-snap-pop of a CRT,
As I tumble through my memories, blind as a mole-rat,
These desperate claws have torn the fixtures,
Grasping at any sign of a childhood,
Beyond old drawings and graded homework,
My existence is validated by the perception of others,
For I've gone ghostly pale to my historical self-perception--
Everything clangors in a discordant noise in an attempt to sound clear,
But all these recollections appear discombobulated,
I can't seem to piece the puzzle together without other's narration,
Affirming that I exist,
Confirming that I was real in 2012,
All I know is that I was...
Was I 12? 10? 8?
The numbers spin in my head,
Yet there's nothing left to spin.
A paradoxical past-present,
The mind forgot, yet the body recalls,
I'm gripping at straws to retrace my steps, but?
They've lost themselves to the sandstorm years ago.
6d ago
May 28, 2026 at 3:52 PM UTC
There's a fascinating sort of redaction,
Down this particular path,
Trodden over and over again to draw,
this crooked road in the dirt,
I remember it in Polaroid flashes;
This is an evanescent sort of fizzling,
All I know is that I was 6,
When I try to plop this new body back in that age,
I get nothing but TV static; a pitiful crack-snap-pop of a CRT,
As I tumble through my memories, blind as a mole-rat,
These desperate claws have torn the fixtures,
Grasping at any sign of a childhood,
Beyond old drawings and graded homework,
My existence is validated by the perception of others,
For I've gone ghostly pale to my historical self-perception--
Everything clangors in a discordant noise in an attempt to sound clear,
But all these recollections appear discombobulated,
I can't seem to piece the puzzle together without other's narration,
Affirming that I exist,
Confirming that I was real in 2012,
All I know is that I was...
Was I 12? 10? 8?
The numbers spin in my head,
Yet there's nothing left to spin.
A paradoxical past-present,
The mind forgot, yet the body recalls,
I'm gripping at straws to retrace my steps, but?
They've lost themselves to the sandstorm years ago.
Written by a DID alter, written in March 2026.
Also inspired by Will Wood!
