Your memory is growing rancid in
the dark corners where I keep you safely
locked away to stoke the fires in which I
burn the promise of a better tomorrow.
Though the stench of you pours from my skin I
will never let anyone take you away;
daily I offer up to you all of
the good intentions you’re keeping me from.
And, though I keep you hidden very well,
you fight and abuse me thinking that I
might free you one day; until then you’ll keep
ripping away the fabric of my pride.
Sometimes you call out to me softly but
I am well aware of all of your tricks,
so go ahead and wail – try to break
down my walls – you haven’t gotten through yet and
I’d rather you rot my brain, than fully
disrespect the life that I’ve been given,
even if it makes me half the man that
I could have been had I let you go.
At least in this way you keep me humble
and maybe that’s why I keep you so close –
for though you are not a part of me, you
will always be the fire in which I roast.