Memories

Floating in,
and floating out,
most,
faded,
with the pass of time.

Yet lost inside,
these yellowed pages,
of my darkened past,
lies crisp white reminders,
of pieces,
scars,
untainted by time.

A book of darkness,
labeled "past",
lies in front of me,
open,
and I read,

every word paints a picture,
every sentance brings the pain,
and yet,
this book,
my book,
keeps me reading.

The yellowed pages,
warp with tears,
tiny spots upon the paper.

I want to close it,
this book of hell,
it tells my story,
a story I don't want to hear.

And as I cry,
reading this book,
I know I cannot stop,
reading it's unfinished story,
adding to this tome,

this is no happy memoir,
it's no biography,
this is the dark book,
filled with memories,
I wish I didn't have,

and you will never read this book,
the way that I do now,
for these pages,
only bring them back,
the way they do,
for me.
(copyright Michell Santiago 2006)