There’s an attic in my head where
I abandon memories to collect dust.
A lot of them were stored successfully
but a few weren’t despite great efforts.
Some memories aren’t tame.
Some are feral and wild.
The trap door to the attic started swinging open
not long after depositing human horrors in its maw.
The tar-like memories I was unable to quarantine
were dumped into the interior of my dome
blotting out my vision with the darkness of his room.
Memories take you back to places
and this was a place I never wanted to be in again.
More often the trap door began to open
spilling blackness, teeth, and hands everywhere.
Containment of such memories is nearly impossible.
There are demons in those recollections that pick locks
and find their way to your heart.