March 4

The Moldy Corners

 

The cacophony found within my skull

Bubbly and bouncing

Off every wall

 

The catatonic catastrophe

And all the

The oxymoronic epiphanies

 

All a whirl and yaking away

Always passing

They never stay.

 

But somewhere towards the very rear

Or just perhaps

Far too near

 

Or maybe it's just easier to pretend

You can't see the horrors

Of a forgotten fantastic friend

 

There in the moldy corners she sits

With all your favorite toys

Figurines and matching outfits

 

The most memories and comings of age

Portrayed out as we tussled

On emerald blades

 

She smiles at me and all I can know

Is the half assed shame

Of having let go

 

And I can blame her for all these days

But the brutal truth is

Phones work both ways.