Drawing: Anthony Gormley
Silently I creep
down the crowded corridors of my mind,
tentatively
toying with the doorknobs of rooms
containing suppressed memories.
I hear them
like an overbooked hotel,
whispering
eager to crowd the hallways
in hopes of recognition and validation.
Restlessly I slumber
unwilling to commit, I strain to decipher
reluctant to open a door
recalling malaise,
despair or buried pain
The alarm sounds
silently I face the clock,
the murmurs fade, and
I throw back the covers,
relieved that choice is gone.
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