Ducts

I’m void of new memories,
And the old ones have found a way out from the gray matter of my brain,
Slowly stepping between the synapses,
But are you ever going to make your way easily back into those tiny neurons,
As I patiently wait,
Trying to not let these memories,
Escape boldly through
the ducts of my eye.
I close them, for they see what they want to see, moments mixed with preservatives in tiny bottles floating between forgetting and remembering.
When I open them, all I see is empty space filled with everything that I own, but nothing , oh nothing that will truly own me.

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