Forgetful.
Dripping. Constant dripping. Puddles left on my shoulders. Strands of hair dipping in and getting soaked, leaving a stale damp stench of dirty water that lingers in my lungs. It’s those unseen holes behind my ears, leaking out memories whilst my back is turned. I forget they are there until I hear that dripping. My mind sounds like the leaves of a drenched tree after heavy rainfall, curved by the weight of water as it slowly drips off their pointy tips. Drip. Drip. The noise reminds me that I have forgotten what I remember.
Alas! I know why. I caught him one night in a false state of sleep. He leant over and plucked an array of tiny holes at the tip of my neck, waiting for all the bad memories to drain out in thin drizzly lines, collecting them in velvet lined jars that hide beneath the floor boards.
Those jars. I sang with each step to drown out their cries as I stepped over their oak dungeon. I turned a blind eye as they shot up daring stares through the cracks and gaps. For i knew that they should not be touched, but why? I forget, always forgetting. I remember why but that answer was sealed in a jar as well.
Those jars. My curiosity. I must remember. My coy fingers unfastened and exposed a lose plank. My impatient hands scooped up a palm full, laying them out in an orderly line of size and shape. Misty greys, empty blacks, mixed with a tint of Mauve, or a speckle of Teal, all swirling around in dull dizzy motions. They stopped crying and started to sing in muffled whispers. Their contents swirling in pleading motions. My ears. They wanted my ears. My empty ears.
Those jars. I gave them my ears, one by one, opening the lids and letting them whisper long lost memories to the voids of emptiness that he left behind. But it took too long, there was too many. Open them, open them all, and open them all i did, endorsing the stains they left as they screamed all my lost secrets at the top of their little glass lungs.
Trickery! Fooled by pandoras jars. Deceiving demons and prostitutes of temptation. My mind whirls with heavy digestion, these memories are as that of fatty deposits clogging up my dripping holes. Wait. I must wait. For time will bear his return and the return of my holes. I must remember to forget.
Forgetting, always forgetting. Forgetting to remember to forget.
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