years before I was born are the most difficult to forget
and in turn the most arduous to forgive

I liken myself to a criminal
trafficker
burglar
thriving off my skin
bathing in my own chest cavity

each day I wake up
and my cells **** themselves
at the point of full collapse
my dendrites and synapses abide

when I look back now on
years past, things that have been said, or done, or not said, or not done

I realize
there is no leaving
there is no going
there is no running
there is what is left
and all that follows