Cold Storage

Life filed away,

folded, packed neatly

in clearly marked boxes:

ex-lovers, old friends,

happy holidays, treasured junk.

Loves and lives

stacked high in a garage

or a shed, out of sight

and far out of mind.

Except those restless nights,

those ice cream and pyjama days,

those eves of big changes

when you prowl among them,

run your fingers over the labels

and feel the bumps of ridges

of the names and places written boldy,

and peek under the lids seeking…

seeking what? Happy memories?

Slices of a life you have lived,

monuments to decisions you have made?

Pictures of smiles no longer worn,

trophies from relationships

that barely got past the starters gun.

Shards of the past

you can drag along your skin

and marvel at their power

to draw blood after so many years,

seeking for the happy thoughts

that made you pack it away,

made you keep the tear soaked memories.

Then you put them away again,

when the dark days have passed,

safe in their boxes,

back out of sight

and back out of mind.

Your secret safety net of agony,

your last cigarette, last sweet hit,

knowing they are there is enough

to remind yourself how you became

and who you once where

and that what hurt you once

still holds power

and what loved you once

is now packed away

in cold storage.


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