Try and scrape the scabs off of your tongue.
Cough and push the shit out of your lungs.
You rip and tear at the skin that you’ve just stung.
A futile gesture learned when you were young.
Memories are just a well-laid trap,
places that you’ve been but can’t go back.
Disrupted sleep and equilibrium from drinking to the point of delirium.
Displaced memories you wish that you could sell
haunted by places you once knew very well.
Notebooks and photos will never be arranged.
Remainders, reminders of a clock you cannot change.
Memories are just a well-laid trap,
places that you’ve been but can’t go back.
Time’s a foreign code that you can’t crack.
A lost location on a map you lack.
Hope is like the spring of a trap.
There’s a place you’ve never been but can’t go back.