Memories, asleep beneath the grave of time,

They refute your desire to know the truth,

It was whiplashes from another hand soul clasped on to, absorbing pain in desperation, blatantly foolish

Some so gory, that your mind dreads their return,

 As they tell tales of those times buried in layers of stacked indecipherable moments

Times you seek to ink on parchment to discriminate illusions from reality,

Some dangerously carved falsehoods…

..Cascading irrational fears with the moments that skinned cells of your faith,

In brutally trying to scavenge for answers, fear of self, fear of what was and what it has fed you,

The old wounds burn, and hiss and leak venom transcending to this moment

Mind clots, chokes in revulsion, revolting against the excessive intrusion,

Invading the past might bring no control, but to rise above ones fears, one must let the venom seep,

To understand the mind now, one must know how it came into being,

To plough out its dark secrets, it’s reason for cerebral dormancy,

Its static stance against abominable acts of hungry desolate minds,

Till the present state evolves into numb acceptance,

The truth trudges up, annihilates all meek pity, and fails to irk the mind into delirium,

Its weakness remains unpardoned.

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