my frontal lobe leaks negativity, the karma craving coal of soul barks alarm. i am paving a road to bitter sweet memories, in a few years i will wish i was right here. sipping air into the corners of my lungs, holding small breaths to fight the turning tumblers in the ball of my stomach. there is fight going on, a tug of war in the sinew textures of my heart, the sloping terrain of a beaten history. of the sorry song we sing. i look through the eyes of mother, cornea tipping and flicking, she is chipping timidly at the concrete walls that spell her fate, the blame she layers thick over the small body of a mirror reflection. it occurs, that the doors are always open, the lock long since been removed, flapping into the cool interior of the kitchen, my childhood legs carried me into the forbidden arms of the open street. out from the beating breast of family. the sharp tooth, the rusting nail, push miles of mourning onto fleshy cheeks, they said they would protect, kiss the adorning walls of years into a sanctuary, into flowering petals of knowledge. keeping tattered letters and photographs of youth captured on the tip of finger, a globe balanced on the edge of being, with the hope of growing friendship. instead we find, this separation. the heads turn and search the distance. there must another way to escape the expectations, the rolling fables that turn the tongues of fathers and spill into promises. when rising world stops moving and age creeps vines into pores of forehead, i want to remember a different story. my dented brain replacing, eliminating and erasing, the sound of walking away from the pair that wasn’t there for you, a type of loud silence. there is no room for goodbyes, it’s the past that tells the lies and engraves the grieving into slippery fragments. slipping through delayed fingers, splashing into the waves of present. i am still here, biting the burn of my salty face, thrashing white onto a crimson canvas.