my head’s a landfill
stacked high with rusted thoughts
old scraps of anger
splintered shame
memories warped from sittin too long
in the rain of my own makin
I dig thru it sometimes
cut my hands on jagged pieces
lookin for somethin worth keepin
but it’s all broken
wires hangin loose
gears that never turn again
just a heap of noise
buzzin in the dark
and when it spills over
they call it chaos
call it crazy
but it’s just the junk tiltin
cans crashin
glass breakin
sharp metal spillin outa me
into the room
I try to pack it tighter
bury it deeper
but the rot still rises
still stinks thru the cracks
still crawls into my mouth
every time I try to breathe
it’s not a mind
it’s a scrapyard fire
that won’t burn out
smoke pourin thick
chokin me down
while I keep diggin
for somethin that isn’t trash
Omg, the number of times I’ve written about this very thing & never did it the justice you did…I so relate…
nah. I’ve read plenty of your poems to know you would’ve done it justice. thanks willow
Powerfully penned, Ambjr. First off, I relate. Amazing write my friend, the imagery and wordplay is phenomenal. You can only compartmentalize so many overrunning thoughts, I speak from experience. Excellent work. Appreciate you.
Damian
I know you get it man. appreciate it