a snippet of a memory
still tries to pick lock my thoughts.
leaving me with a jealous sea of unwanted, played emotions.
it's all a paradox.
a senseless act.
its like a bipolar mechanism that my mind plays and sets to record.
there's nothing more than what I extremely hate on those memories, or what i like to call them. "the hurtful files".
why does my brain punish me this way, no matter what i do, they always find ways to come back, like magnets.