It is as if the ghosts of my past
have wandered in
speaking only in whispers
too faint to understand
too loud to drown out

I wonder why they came to call?

Did I mistakenly
conjour them
stirring a settled darkness
best not meddled with?

Came they
of their own volition
knocking, crying
Nevermore?

Haha.
No
this is not fiction
these ghosts are real
old companions
though I would not
call them friends

Indeed
for they are enemies neither
simply parts of me
broken from the whole
conscious
and without souls

Memories gone nightmare
forged through a flame
Lit hot by shame
and all the other bad feelings
Which gave birth to these
abominations of spirit

They know me
the me lost to time
and the mercy of weak memories
in those around me
a side-effect of a forgiving heart
It is the only thing
that makes these ghosts
so unique:  they do not forget.

Nor should they
and I should be grateful
for such vivid reminders
but I confess
I am not

Like so many
I simply wish to forget
but that is not possible
not practical
that shame holds lessons
valuable as they are painful
ignorance may be bliss
But at such a heavy cost...

I do not know if I am ready
to pay it.