break.

Glassy eyes stare blankly from all corners of my mind.

Wide and bulging at every move I make, every thought that flickers across my consciousness.

Nothing spares me from their judgment.

From the judgment my mind forms unbidden.

Why must you break me so?

In the corner of your room you’ve stockpiled millions of my memories.

You torture me.

Past is something I know, always, always.

I cannot avoid past.

Like I brush away strands of future thoughts, crisscrossed to tie me down.

They snap easily.

Past is ropes.

Binding me to what cannot be undone.

Even these words, after being erased, deleted, as if they never were.