memories do not make good pillows
they are always getting stuck inside my ears
and i can still hear the sound of my mistakes
long after they are only an echo

words resonate like stories ready
to detonate, bringing me back to
days when my heart was a phoenix

- when strength could be reborn from ashes,
days when life was not a concussion of complexities

- when dreams were not chased away by carbon catastrophes
like every day molecules of oxygen, and hope still lived
in the pit of my stomach, nestled amid butterflies

maybe one day i will feel safe enough to wrap myself
in a blanket of reflections and recollections and my
stream of consciousness will no longer drown me