Unfinished journeys plague me still
Reminding me of who I was
But also who I could not be
There was a path to that me once
Discovered among the bramble
And beautiful flowers throughout
Lying in wait among the thorns
Lions with brightly-petaled manes
So I dared to venture inward
Drawn further by their splendidness
Head swimming with lovey music
Yet the chimera soon faded
The once vibrant colors dulling
Speckles of crimson strewn about
For the barbs had pierced all the while
Laid waste by the driving desire
Retreating with my gaze still fixed
Or more so forced away at once
With scars baring glorious pain
Never to trust my heart or mind
Nor return to what once was me

My heart pounds in my ears
The only thing I hear
Are the words that my brain
Won’t dare let my mouth say
And nobody wants to hear
The fear in my voice
Or about my choice to not
Say anything at all
Because seeing someone
Not care about what I’ve done
Or what I’ve become
Could be worse
Worse than the curse
Of the curses in my head
That both tell me that
This is all it will ever be
It will be pain
Full of pain
Not light and momentary
But unbearable and unceasing
Evident in every day and night
The light warning of the darkness
That is sure to follow
And the darkness reaching deep
With bared teeth into
Bones hollow from sorrow
And the eating away
Of silent words
And pounding ears

A piqued sweater
A constant reminder of a snag in the design.
A moment unexpected.
A pull too strong for comfort,
but not so strong to tear the fabric
away from its intended purpose.  
Leaving less of a mark of the memory
and more of a reminder of what could be.
A warning of frivolity and reckless abandon,
or at least the consequences of such.
Not unrepairable. Not to be discarded.
Simply to be well-worn.
To be cautious of being caught.
To be lived in arms crossed, if need be.
To live in the present,
afraid of the future, or something akin,
and aware of the past. Unfading.
Aware of the thread so easily tugged
into the pattern of unraveling.