poetry

I Hope

Look at me, can you not see?
Can you not tell?
That I’m screaming out to you,
Stuck in that looping hell.
Memories come and then recede back,
Back to the deepest part of my mind,
Its funny how the smallest thing,
The tiniest most insignificant image,
Or sound.
Can trigger, an overwhelming response,
Feeling.
Maybe if I keep writing,
Shouting more or less,
That memory,
That trigger,
Will finally dissipate.
Go away and never come back.
Or so I hope.

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