"What's wrong?"
"Nothing"

When I think too much
the flashbacks come
my adventerous neurons
deep in my hippocampus
digging through like
macabre antique finders:

I hear shouting
insults glide towards me
like a puck
on a shuffle board
titled "Gaslight"

I see a raised palm
threatening to slap me
a slow moving computer
that needs to cool down

I hear her mock:
"Why don't you just leave?"
inarticulate in describing
the theft of my free-will
absolutely stuck like
a figure on a foosball table

The present catches me
and I hear again
"What's wrong?"

I want to say what's wrong
but that would take time

Would take gaining trust slowly
like filling up a bucket
from a faucet plugged  with rust

Would take breaking of
improperly healed fractures
before treatment can soothe me

Would take time spent crying
to release pressure, my body
like overinflated tires

Would take going to that
dark closet called abuse

Would take risking everything
and losing it all again