There was a poem I wrote once
But its name escapes me.
My words that danced
In plaid skirts and linen trousers
But dark smears across my vision,
Blocking what I have already seen from view.
They make the world quite unpleasant to look at.
I have tried to rewrite
The tone, the meaning, the cadence,
The sheer malice
Back into the world of the known
Back into an existence of paper and ink
But with each stroke of my pen
My fingers crack and bleed.
And the pages rot into petals,
Cluttering the ground with distraction.
I fear I will drown in their quantity.
And now I have another poem
That will eventually fade from my memory…
But there was a poem I wrote once…
Its name escapes me.
With each passing day, Hayley McCullough becomes more convinced they are actually a brain in a jar.