Nighttime and the scars surface
leaving their trenches
climbing up the anchor
shoving away the dirt that sought to keep them buried
night sucks them out of their depths
through anamnesis straws
unneeded but involuntary
hideous they mutate
disfigured memories
abstract in their unrestrained damage
exaggerated often to injure just enough
a dribble of anger
slowly swelling with bubbling vitriol
that had remained suspended
in a small cabin upstairs
sloshing in acidic deluge
of helpless memories
I now swat at
like foul flies
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