these memories aren’t mine.
they claw and bite and scratch when i touch them. these colored cacophonous birds of memories that roost in my head.
they will not leave.
their feathers clog my arteries and i choke on their claws as they tear at my throat. i’d scream if i could, but my blood weighs down my tongue and i drown in deluded drug-induced daydreams.
my existence means nothing to them.
not the woman who takes my body as payment for a box of supplies she should give out of the kindness of her heart. nor the woman who uses my strength to carry out her work. to the doctor, i am a patient to be prodded, poked and prescribed a new medication to see if this will be the one to make me better.
the birds they burst out of my chest and i am left suffocating in the absence of my tears.