I didn’t listen to myself.
If I would’ve
The thorn in my side
Would’ve been pulled
Instead of left
For infection
I’m an old chest
That occupies someone’s past
I fight the movement
Creek in retaliation
But once I’m finally open
Memories are on display
I lie down in the old days
Reminiscing about
Her
And her
And her
And her
I didn’t listen
To Myself. I fall
Into the same old chest
With the same old complaints
With the same recycled memories
Completed with a new person
