Old pieces of memories
Stacked in the corners of my brain
Haunt my wicked aura
At first glance
Each new day they never cease to make me wander off They
trigger unwanted mood swings And sway my life in unwanted directions Bended
knees are a symbol known to the dead Lifted hands belong to Christians' praise
I for one am cracked by old pieces
New to you because you do not know me
Fresh in their scent because you let them Rejected by my
being because it knows it all too well
Stricken by a longing to belong
Bitten by the need to be more than just
Yet they remain
Old pieces
Stacked across the border of his study room Safely tucked
away in his pocket Placed under the sheets on a rainy summer night Thrown into
the deep edges of trauma Spit out like venom unrelentlessly Licked like the
last glimpse of a stray cat's fur
Old pieces
New to the unknown
Unforgiving to the forgotten
Riding on the thread of the haunted
Old pieces
Spiced with lies so sweet one can't help it but run
towards them Speeding through the forest in a quest to bury the hatchet Drowned
in poison to numb its effect Ridiculed by its hold on me
Old pieces
Haunt
Humor
Humble me
The future belongs to the artist
Love
Phoenix
