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my father once told me,
"you live on memories.”

these words rung through my hollow chest,
like a grand cathedral bell,
echoing against every bone in my body.
it made me realize that i was nothing more 
than a living spectre,
my skin simply peeled like an orange,
leaving nothing but mushy insides.

but my father was right.
i feed my soul nostalgia;
with the iterate fear that
when the memories fade,
so will i. 
and its left me to wonder,
"where am i going?"

i don’t mean it in the literal sense,
as in where will i go in the future;
I mean where am i (mind and soul) going?

i used to be filled with memories,
like photographic lacquer that coated my insides,
but recently, i feel as though something has bit a hole 
into my skin, 
letting every recollection slip
from the bronchioles of memories in my chest.
i lay here in space undefined,
dishevelled and breathless,
a lacuna in my vacant soul, 
with a single urge to know,
why this emptiness,
feels so goddamn heavy.

                                                                 ( jp )  

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