every first day of the month is yours.

you’re in the cobwebby corners of my mind.
the hollow parts,
the forgotten parts.
or at least the parts i try to forget.

it feels impossible when so much is a reminder-
of innocence lost.
paranoia gained.
fear festering.
time  u n w i n d i n g.

i hate clocks now.
mirrors too.
i hardly recognize my own reflection anymore.
which me is staring back?
from which time?

you lose yourself when you stop keeping count.

*, 2, 3, 4...

there’s a bittersweet taste left in my mouth.
i’ve tried to wash it out, smoke it out;
flush out the ghosts inside,
but the haunted echoes of distorted voices still remain.

how can i move on when i can’t ever forget ?
how did You?