You are the piece of memory I preserve
To take me back in time of days of people,
Who as of now,
Never were.
And in deep
It pains me.
Like the running of a tap,
Like the twisting and tightening of your vocal cords and the congestion in your chest.
As your stomach turns lightly and tightens at the core.
Your skin pickles and sweat drops
and you can feel it.
The pain.
It burrows deep.
Aches away.
Like river running
Like river running
Jack rabbit
On foot
Little Red Riding Hood with the Wolf right behind her.
Paradoxical to the Hunter behind him,
Cutting off his food supply like molten lava on the crops grown all through Christmas time.
Pummeled over.
Plowed over.
And revitalized
Through sadness and sorrow.
Little sprouts erupt in the spring, swiftly through natures' spine.
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