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 )