No matter how I go and try
to make it otherwise
the only thing I’ve learned from
has been pain.

Cutting my hand
on an empty can
I was trying to crush
to make the point
that it was garbage.

I’ve been in bad groups
that would lurk where
no one cared.
Using infinite obscurity
to justify how home
was held together.

Those memories
have lost remaining color
in the storage room
where I keep them
in film canisters,
while they break down
over time.

I put them on sometimes
with a projector I dig out
from in the attic
that will skip but play back
steady overall.
It casts against the wall
of my garage that was
the same gray a screen
and didn’t seem to be
of any real importance.

I watch them all one night
when I cannot fall asleep,
and they repeat like that
the whole way back
until the sunlight shows itself
and sort of saves me.

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