My head is full of the past.
Every beating heart I have ever
Felt an inkling for, lives and loves
Relentlessly inside the confines of my brain.
Brushing against the tender surface of my skull,
I feel the disconnect becoming thicker.
What is now is not then,
And what will be will have never been.
I may exist in all tenses,
Though others may not wish this.
My head is not the only one full of things;
Yours, theirs, his, hers.
There is a mold in all of us,
And a rotting flesh in me.
But despite this fear, and realization at least,
Something will be reborn from the memory.
A full head is not useless, it seems.
It provides a pathway, an answer, a solution.
It provides a well being not known before,
And I will abuse it to no end.
I have no other choice.
The skies will damn me for it,
But I have no other choice.
For that is the future, and I am the now.
Before I tackle anything,
I must rid my head of the rotting past,
Spray the chemical, swallow the medication,
Close the eyes and lose the heartbeat.
I will someday rid myself of the rot.
E.