Attic Keys

I lock all my bad memories

in a pink trunk. It resides

up in my mind, locked.

If you found the key

you might find

something

frightening.

The trunk is opened

once in a while to

place new ones

inside a horrid

place. The

insides

are neon

yellow that

hurts my eyes.

It hurts to peel

back the lock’s

hook, to extract

the memories that

I have locked away.

Write from life.

What is life?

I watch as the magenta

trunk grows larger

like some lie

you have

to keep

building

upon to save

face. Is it really

worth all these memories?

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About blackwinterrosethorn

I am an artist and a writer whose living in Virginia. I go to Hollins University and I am a double minor in Creative Writing and Music. I've been writing for about eleven or twelve years. I've been singing forever and I have been drawing and painting for four or five years. I am open to doing commissions and collaborative pieces. View all posts by blackwinterrosethorn

16 responses to “Attic Keys

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